Percy - 10 Chapters and outrageous
by LJlashlarue
Summary: Percy's ambition leads him places he would rather not have gone. This is the broadest sort of crack!fic, and doubtless has content that will offend nearly everyone at some point or another. Foul language, unlikely scenarios, various stereotypes, name it, it's likely in here somewhere. However, people have actually expelled beverages through their noses reading this. Fair warning.
1. Chapter 1

Author: Lash_Larue

Title: Percy, Chapter One -"Getting Ahead at the Ministry"

Pairing:Percy/Umbridge

Summary:Where ambition leads - under Dolores' desk...

Warnings:Unwitting non-con; Umbridge; Unwitting forced sex

Word Count: 1265

Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling

Possible Squicks: It seems established that this thing is in fact rather squicky. It squicked me some.

Percy Weasley paused before knocking on the door before him and took a moment to straighten his tie and smooth down his hair. Dolores Umbridge was, after all, the Senior Undersecretary, and a very influential woman. He had been thrilled when he received her message asking him to drop by her office to discuss his "future prospects". He raised his hand and knocked on the door.

"Come in," trilled Umbridge. Percy opened the door and entered. He walked stiffly up to her desk and executed a little bow.

"You wished to see me, Madame Umbridge?"

"Why yes, Mr. Weasley; I have noticed that you are a very capable and ambitious young man, and I like to encourage that. But before we get down to brass tacks, I wonder if you would do me a small favor?" she asked in her girlish squeak.

"Delighted to be of service, how may I help?"

"I seem to have dropped one of my rings underneath my desk," she said, as she wriggled the stubby fingers of her left hand in front of her face. "I wonder if you could do me the favor of finding it for me?"

"Of course," Percy replied stoutly, as he rounded the corner of her desk, and there he stopped. There was simply no way for him to look under her desk with her sitting there. "Excuse me, Madame Umbridge, but would you mind rolling your chair back a bit?"

"Oh, how silly of me," she tittered, and she wheeled out of the way. Percy bent and looked beneath the desk. He didn't see a ring, but he supposed it might have bounced around when it fell, and it was quite dark under there.

"Never fear, I shall track it down!" He produced his wand with a flourish, "_Lumos_", and with the lit wand ahead of him he crawled beneath the desk.

Behind him cruel fate moved on silent wheels.

"Now Mr. Weasley; as I'm sure you know, in order to get a_head _ here at the Ministry, one has to sometimes _give_ a little."

Percy wondered what more he could give, he worked day and night as it was, and he still hadn't found the blasted ring. After scrabbling around holding his illuminated wand for quite a time, he turned at last to crawl out from under the desk and report defeat.

He found to his surprise that the way was blocked; Umbridge had pulled her chair back up to the desk.

He found to his considerable embarrassment that her robes had somehow shifted up nearly as high as her waist, and that he was faced with a pale pair of plump, dimpled knees and a vast expanse of thighs roughly the color and texture of badly-mixed biscuit dough.

"I feel that now is the time, Mr. Weasley, to discuss your _position_ here at the Ministry." The chair rolled farther forward, and Umbridge slid forward on the seat, and soon Percy was pinned against the all-too solid front panel of her desk.

It was only when the knees began to part that Percy realized what he was expected to give a little of.

Percy whimpered. "Yes, Mr. Weasley, I hear your excitement,' trilled Umbridge, 'I'm sure you can barely believe your luck."

That was in fact the unvarnished truth.

Percy watched, pinned by the same sort of fascination that makes people gawp at auto wrecks and the like. The doughy thighs spread farther, like the gates to some horrible dungeon. Wider, until at last Percy could see…

"_NOX_", he screamed.

"That's the spirit Mr. Weasley dear,' cooed Umbridge, 'let's set the mood, shall we?" Umbridge muttered a spell, and the room darkened further. But not enough; not nearly enough. Percy felt the stubby fingers grab his ears in a grip of iron, and his wand flew from his hand and was lost in the shadows. A second scream forged its way up from the depths of his soul. You could scarcely blame him, but his timing could perhaps have been better. Just as his mouth opened wide to let the scream escape, Dolores pulled his face firmly into her crotch.

Percy went ahead and screamed, but it didn't make much noise. In fact… "Oh! Mr. Weasley! Such enthusiasm!" Percy struggled, but to no avail; he could scarcely breathe, much less reply. But he kept trying. "Oh!' cried Dolores, 'I suppose this must seem to you like a trip to Honeyduke's with a great sack of Galleons! Enjoy, Mr. Weasley, enjoy!"

Percy tried to think of Honeyduke's, in the desperate hope that it would take his mind off of his current situation. But try as he might, his mind was forced back to a long ago family vacation. Mr. Weasley had taken the family to the seashore, and in keeping with his fascination with all things Muggle, had forced them to endure an afternoon on the docks, watching the boats unload all of those slimy…

"Oh, OH! Mr. Weasley! Whatever you are doing, don't stop!"

Desperately, Percy thrashed his head around, trying to tear his ears off, but it was no good. There just wasn't room.

A series of sounds came from above that pulled him back to another Muggle-centric vacation, when Mr. Weasley had driven them out into the countryside, to see where bacon came from.

There seemed to be no end, no way out. and for the first time in his law-abiding life, the mind of Percy Weasley turned to the Unforgivable Curses.

He would have to kill to escape.

His hand fumbled about in the dark, desperately seeking his wand as he mentally recalled all that he knew of the Avada Kedavra. His hand searched everywhere...

"OH! MR. WEASLEY! YES, YES!"

A small corner of his mind reflected that the difference between passion and raving desperation was largely one's point of view.

He forced his mind back to the task at hand; he knew that in order for the Avada Kedavra to work, one had to truly want it to.

That was not going to be a problem.

With every fiber of his being, Percy wanted to die.

Fortunately or not, before he found his wand, a massive shudder swept through his meaty prison, and his ears were released. Percy slumped to the floor. In a moment, the chair rolled slowly back and Percy crawled, shaking, out from under the desk. He pulled himself to his feet, and turned to see Umbridge beaming at him. Her face was covered in sweat, and her hair had shaken free of its severe bun.

"Mr. Weasley, you have exceeded all expectations! I shall promote you at once! You shall be my _persona_l assistant, a sort of _Under - _Under Secretary."

Percy's mouth fell open in horror, but she misread that as well.

"I see your surprise. Yes Mr. Weasley, you are indeed that fortunate!"

Fortune too, he thought, was subject to viewpoint; at least the direction of it was.

"Take the rest of the day off, Mr. Weasley. We can't be wearing you out your first day on the job now, can we?" Umbridge looked at him like he was indeed a tray of Honeyduke's best, and Percy shuddered. "Don't you worry, Mr. Weasley, there is plenty more Dolores where that came from."

"_I've got to get out of here!"_ thought Percy desperately, and he turned to leave. A further thought stopped him, "My wand -" he began.

"Don't you worry Mr. Weasley; I'll take good care of it for you. I rather expect you'll be _losing your wand _ in here quite often in future."


	2. Chapter 2

Author:Lash_Larue

Title:Percy, Chapter 2 _"Aftermath"_

Pairing:Percy and *sigh* Umbridge

Rating:Say R for an overarching sort of, creepiness, I guess

Summary:Well, you read the last one, this happens after. Something _had_ to happen after...

Warnings:Mild language; Umbridge; err-ummm,bit of a horror movie thing I guess, and, oh yeah; mpreg

Word Count:2000, round about.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling, don't tell what I did with them, OK?

Possible Squick: I guess; nowhere near as _gross_ as the first part, but I didn't sleep all that well the night I finished this. If you haven't read part one there is still time to escape.

Percy slumped against the wall outside Umbridge's office, thanking all that there was that his extraordinary run of luck was for once headed in the right direction. The usually bustling corridor was completely deserted.

"Nightmare," he breathed, mostly to himself, "an absolute, total nightmare."

He mentally deducted the cost of a new wand from his savings. He would not re-enter that room for a Philosopher's Stone of his very own.

He straightened up, reached deep into his reserves of fortitude, (which were considerable, to be fair about it) and began a somewhat shaky progress towards the exit. His stride steadied as that horrid office faded into the distance, and he picked up the pace a little. By the time he marched past the fireplaces, he was walking as fast as he felt that it was proper to do in the Ministry that it had been his life's ambition to work for. It did not occur to him to actually _use_ one of the fireplaces, nor to Apparate to his destination. He was moving, and at the moment that sufficed.

Just then, there were only two things he wanted from the Ministry. The first was his monthly salary, and that was secure in the pocket of his robes. The second was distance, and he was working on that. The elevator rattled open, Percy stepped inside, and the doors closed.

"Merlin's beard,' he said softly as he slumped against the wall of the lift. He felt his stomach lurch at the image that conjured up of where his face had just been, and resolved to find a new epithet immediately. Perhaps some colorful Muggle phrase or other would make a nice change. The lift shuddered to a stop, and Percy stepped out of the phone booth. He then began walking towards his room at the Leaky Cauldron. He was walking quite fast, and in fact he began to run. He found, somewhat to his surprise, that he was very good at running, and he was soon passing cyclists, taxis, and the occasional low-flying bird. In plain truth, Percy was faster than Hell, or at least he was trying to be.

He banged through the door of the Cauldron, skidded to a stop at the bar and leaned on it, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath.

"Blimey, Mr. Weasley!" exclaimed Tom the innkeeper. "What's happened to you, sir? You're in a right state!"

"I don't want to talk about it,' Percy gasped out, 'and I beg you to never again call me Mr. Weasley. The title has recently fallen under some unpleasant associations." He shuddered mightily. In point of fact it had been given an ineluctable stench, but he had a plan for that.

"Of course, sir, what shall I be calling you then, sir?"

"I don't care; Percy, Perce, red-headed blood-traitor, arsehole; absolutely anything at all other than…" he waved his hand carelessly. Tom did not pretend to understand, but he was a businessman first and foremost, and the customer was always right.

"Certainly, Perce. Now then, what can I do for you?"

Percy threw a pouch of galleons on the bar. "I want you to take this month's rent out of that, and have the balance sent to my room in the form of firewhisky. I want three bottles of your best, and I want the rest of it the cheapest, rawest stuff that you have. Volume is important. I want the lot in my room by the time I get there, and then I do not wish to be disturbed, by anyone, for a period of 24 hours. And I _should _ mention that I have recently discovered that I can run like a bastard."

Tom's jaw dropped. "Of course, Perc- blimey! 'E really can run like a bastard!" Tom got busy.

Percy crashed into his room, slammed the door, shot the bolts, and then pushed a heavy wardrobe in front of the door. Only then did he look around. He saw three very dusty bottles on the table, and a gratifyingly large stack of crates by the door. He swiftly stripped off his clothing, binned it, and then hurriedly carried the crates into the loo, where he began to pour the whisky into the tub. The bottles were empty, and the tub was full. He seized a scrubbing brush and plunged into the whisky. Once he was totally submerged, he began to scrub every part of himself.

Perhaps the whisky leached in through his skin, or perhaps it was just that he was breathing it in, but after several minutes in the bath he felt the edge of his desperation begin to blunt.

"Thank you," he breathed to whoever was listening. He had better control of his mind now, and he thought his plan had a chance of success. He emerged from the bath, toweled off, and sat at the table. He opened the first dusty bottle and drained it at a go. A merciful fog descended as he reached for the second one….

Percy awoke in a drifting cloud of white. The light was a little bright, but apart from that, he was quite comfortable. He looked around. He saw to his surprise that he was in a hospital bed, although a much nicer one than he had ever seen before. The enchanted windows displayed a pastoral scene, and he could actually hear the birds singing. He settled back and allowed himself to relax. "Well,' he thought, 'if I _am_ dead, at least I seem to have gone to heaven." He was just about to drift back into sleep when he heard the voices.

"…amnedest thing I've ever seen. Been in a coma for six months, seems to have a great toad or something growing inside of him."

Percy's eyes snapped open.

"Look," someone exclaimed, 'he's awake!" Percy found himself surrounded by a sea of white-coated mediwizards. "And how are you feeling then, Mr. Weasley?" a voice enquired.

"Call me Percy please, or arsehole, anything but…"

"Quite right Perce, Tom told us of your preference of address, it's just been so long we forgot. And of course, you are a _very_ important patient."

"What do you mean?" Percy asked. He knew that he was important, but it was the first time anyone else had confirmed it.

"Well, Perce, Madame Umbridge herself has taken a personal interest in your case. Insisted on the very best of everything for you, luxury accommodations, top staff, round the clock nursing care, the lot," said the healer proudly.

Percy had not heard much of it after the "Madame Umbridge" part, and he thought he felt ice water trickling down his spine. He wondered why that was.

"We notified her as soon as you woke up, and… well here she is now. We'll just leave you two alone to talk."

The toad-like face of Dolores Umbridge swam into view, a broad smile on the wide lips. "Hello, Mr. Weasley, dear,' she trilled brightly, 'and how are we today?"

At the sound of the, "Mr. Weasley, dear", the whole hellish episode came roaring back. Percy clenched his teeth and groaned.

"Don't worry dear,' Dolores cooed, 'it will be some time yet, she's just exercising a bit, that's all."

Percy didn't understand one bit of that , what the hell was she getting at?

"And just who, precisely, is 'she', Madame Umbridge, and why should I care about, or even be aware of, her physical training program?" Percy said coldly.

"Oh, you don't know? Well then, let me be the first to break the wonderful news to you. You have a little Umbridge in the oven, Mr. Weasley dear." Percy gazed down in horror at the ring studded fingers patting his terribly swollen stomach.

Some time later, he awoke to the feel of a cool cloth laving his brow. Unfortunately, that was as good as it got, for when he opened his eyes, he saw…

"Welcome back, Mr. Weasley dear. Oh, I'm sorry, the healers tell me you prefer to be called Perce, or Percy now."

"Call me Mr. Weasley."

"Of course, Mr. Weasley dear, it does better suit the dignity of your position."

"What position?"

"Well, I suppose you could say 'mother', but really 'incubator' is a more accurate term."

That began to make a horrifying bit of sense, and he looked down again at his swollen belly. He got dizzy, and he nearly puked, but he held on.

There was steel in Percy Weasley.

"How is this possible?" Percy asked as calmly as he could.

"Well," Umbridge began, "this started with my great-great-grandmother, Beeotcha Umbridge. She decided, and quite properly so, that Umbridge women were much too important to suffer the pain and indignity of ordinary childbirth, but that it was obviously of crucial importance that the line be preserved. So using her great magical powers, she created the _Umbridge-tad_!"

"The what?"

"Umbridge-tad, Mr. Weasley dear, _Umbridge-tad_. Umbridge women, during their nubile years, (she paused in her speech to run her hands along her body, Percy cringed) carry within their wombs a tiny little wriggling thing that, in the proper environment, will blossom into a carbon-copy of that same Umbridge woman!"

Percy considered that. The objective part of his mind realized that this was quite a remarkable piece of magic, but… "Do you mean to say, that I'm _knocked up?_" blurted Percy.

"Oh, I would never put such a miracle in those crude terms. But essentially, yes." She beamed at him. A fly flew by, and Percy snagged it with his tongue. Dolores clapped her hands in delight. "Just like her Mummy Dolores! Oh, Mr. Weasley dear, I am so excited!"

Percy was fairly excited as well, but once again he rather thought that they had differing viewpoints on the subject. Getting a firm hold on himself, he asked, "How exactly did you manage to knock me up then?"

"Oh, you get all the credit there, Mr. Weasley dear! You see, only when an Umbridge woman is brought to the heights of ecstasy does the Umbridge-tad feel free to swim gleefully into her new home! Little did I suspect, when I gave you your little Honeydukes surprise, that you would prove so worthy!"

Percy, who had always enjoyed honors and awards, was finding that he had gone a bit off of this particular one.

"And just how am I supposed to deliver this sainted offspring? I seem to be lacking an essential item of equipment for the purpose."

Dolores Umbridge smiled widely. Percy had never before noticed just how sharp her teeth were. "Oh,' trilled Umbridge, 'don't you worry about that, Mr. Weasley dear. She'll manage that, all- by - herself…."

Percy woke screaming, his head lying in a pool of his own vomit. He had never seen such a beautiful sight in his life. "Only a dream… oh thank God, it was only a dream. Imagine, me; knocked up. What kind of sick mind comes up with a thing like that? I need therapy." He surveyed the litter before him.

Two of the dusty bottles were empty. The other had been uncorked, but remained full. Percy felt a little nauseated, and he had a small headache, but it wasn't too bad, especially considering what he had soaked in, and drunk. "Thank goodness I had sense enough to buy the good stuff to swallow," he congratulated himself.

He took stock of the situation. First thing, obviously, was to clear up this mess. Then clean himself up, post his resignation and look for a new position. "I could go work with Charlie,' he mused, 'there's nothing scary about dragons any longer." The more he thought about it, the better he liked it. Fresh air, out in the country… Penelope would love the country. He was actually starting to feel optimistic, like things really _were_ going to turn out for the best.

He had come through fire, and emerged as tempered steel.

The color rose in his cheeks, and his hawk-like gaze looked boldly into the future…

He felt a sort of _wriggle_, just behind his navel.

Percy reached for the bottle….


	3. Chapter 3

Author:Lash_Larue

Title: Percy Chapter 3 "A Man of Action"

Pairing:Percy/Umbridge

Rating:R

Summary:Percy shows his mettle, and takes action.

Warnings:F bombs; Implied Umbridge; AU Mpreg

Word Count:1950 - ish

Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling, I just abuse them.

A/N: I admit it, I'm starting to admire the guy.

Chapter 3

"A Man of Action"

Percy Weasley woke up.

For most of us, this is simply something that happens, sooner or later, every time we fall asleep. Until of course, the time that you _don't_ wake up. But Percy wasn't to that point yet. Not quite. But because the most pleasant waking that he'd had of late had involved his face lying in a puddle of puke; he could be forgiven for being less than enthusiastic.

But Percy was, in fact, a genuine Man of Action.

"I am going to open my eyes," he commanded himself. "I am going to open my eyes, and I am going to be in my bed, in my room, wearing a nice clean pair of pajamas, between crisp, clean sheets that were put on said bed the same day that I lay down comfortably on it. I am _not_ going to wake up propped in a chair at my table, in two-day old sour-smelling skivvies, with my face in a puddle of vomit. I am simply not going to do that."

Percy opened his eyes.

"_Jesus wept_…" sighed Percy, for he was propped in a chair at his table, with his face in a puddle of vomit. He was not wearing two-day old sour-smelling skivvies, however, he was bare-arsed naked.

He heard water running in the shower. "Well,' he thought, 'whatever got me into this revolting condition, I didn't go it alone. I suppose that's something. I certainly hope Penelope hasn't noticed the vomit."

The thought galvanized him, and he leapt to his feet. Ignoring the throbbing in his head, he sprang to the small sink in his kitchenette, and scrubbed his face vigorously with the dish soap. He looked around, grimaced, then squeezed more soap onto a finger and used to scrub the foul taste out of his mouth, the soap was awful-tasting, but it _was_ some improvement. He seized a sponge and bucket; filled it, raced to the table, scrubbed the puke off of it, binned the empties, dumped and rinsed the bucket and found his trousers. And he did all that in much less time than most people would have taken to identify last night's supper on the table.

"Well,' he said aloud, 'I got that part right at least, I _am_ fast as a bastard." It was a small thing, he supposed; but it wasn't nothing. His back was to the bathroom door when his companion of the previous night opened it.

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley dear!"

"AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH! NO, no, NOOOOO! NOT AGAIN, NOT BLOODY - _AGAIN!"_

Percy woke screaming; his head lying in a pool of his own vomit.

"I am never going to sleep again. Never. Nev-er, ev-er again." His head was pounding, and he was woozy, but he at once set about putting things right. He threw away the three empty bottles in front of him, cleaned up the vomit, did a quick general clear-up and headed to the bathroom to take a much-need bath. He opened the door.

"Hello, Mr. Weasl-"

"No. I did _not_ hear that… why is my bathtub filled with cheap liquor?" he said aloud.

He felt a little _wriggle_, right behind his navel.

"Oh, fuck me…" he sighed.

He reached into the whiskey and opened the drain, and then he sat on the toilet while he watched the whisky swirl away. As he watched, the sight and smell of the stuff made him retch, but he fought it down. Then, in a flash of insight, he realized that quite apart from being the prudent thing to do, a good puke might actually rid him of a growing problem that had been occupying him of late. He dropped to his knees before the porcelain basin, and he strained, but the urge had passed. Not much had gone right for Percy of late. He sighed again.

"Merlin's bear-"

Percy blew chunks all over the loo.

He flopped his head over the side of the tub, and chased the retreating liquor down the drain with what he fervently hoped was everything that had passed his lips since he had been weaned. He didn't know what most of it had been, and he certainly had no clue how there could be so very much _of_ it, but each additional contribution lifted his spirits. At last it stopped. Percy was spent, but he did feel better. In fact, he felt – light – as if a huge and terrible burden had somehow been expelled. The light grew in his eyes, and he set about scrubbing the tub.

He felt better as he soaked in the hot, clean water, and his mind automatically set about organizing his day.

"Well, I have to face the fact that I am done with the Ministry. No getting around that. The dragon thing is right out too. They are a little too, amphibian-like, for my taste, now I think on it. Gringotts! That's the ticket! I've got just the sort of experience that they can use, and a right smart head for figures. Gringotts it is then."

By the time he had finished his bath, he was whistling.

There was steel in Percy Weasley.

His bath finished, his hair smartened up, Percy dressed carefully in his very best dress robes, and considered the best approach to use at Gringotts.

"Straight from the shoulder, that's the ticket. I shall simply tell them that I have decided that the Ministry is not proceeding in a direction that I can, in good conscience, continue to support. If they press for detail, I shall politely decline, pointing out that there are things that go on in the Ministry that I simply cannot, and will not, reveal."

A truer phrase never passed human lips.

He went to the mirror to check his tie. He did in fact look most impressive, distinguished, even. He practiced his best "serious-and-dedicated" look. He was ready. He opened his door. He felt a little _wriggle_, right behind his navel.

"Blimey, Tom! Wot in 'ell was that!" cried a patron at the bar in the Leaky Cauldron. He was referring to the sudden rush of wind and noise that had swept by heading for the rear door.

"Oh, that was Percy Weasley. Nice bloke, told me to call 'im anyfing I pleased, long as it wasn't, 'Mr. Weasley'. Big spender too. 'E does seem to be a bit off lately, though. I'm afraid 'e might 'ave a bit of a problem w' the drink. I 'ope 'es all right, like the cut of his jib, you might say. 'E can run like a bastard, too."

" 'Struth he can. Give us another then, Tom. That's the ticket."

Several witches and wizards shopping in Diagon Alley that morning were startled by the sight of well-dressed young man, with fiery red hair, who was indeed running extremely fast. Many of them remarked on it.

"I've never seen a man run so fast in my life," they'd say.

"Faster than the 'Ogwarts Express," some preferred.

"Fast as a bastard…" for some reason that was the most popular choice. It was perfectly true, no matter how it was put.

Percy skidded to a halt at the Gringotts counter. He did not, however, enquire as to available positions, but made a withdrawal. Then he whisked away. The goblin teller raised his eyebrows.

"Did you see that, Crapshoot?" he asked the Goblin next to him.

"Yes, indeed I did, Rimshot old boy, most impressive turn of speed on the lad."

"Fast as a scalded house-elf!"

It was certainly a week for firsts, reflected Percy, as he headed for Knockturn Alley at the speed of a scalded bastard house-elf. He had never before entered the shadowy spaces of Knockturn Alley, but he _was_ a Man of Action, and he did have another plan. He drew up outside of Borgin and Burkes, and took a moment to compose himself. He entered the shop, and marched right up to the counter.

"What can I do for you today, Mr…." Borgin paused expectantly.

"Call me Ishmael," said Percy. (He'd always liked the name, and he certainly wasn't going to use his own in here).

"Very well, Mr. Ishmael, what can I do for you?"

"I an interested in acquiring a quantity of a chemical compound capable of extinguishing amphibious life forms of the family, bufonidae," Percy said clearly.

"Come again, Mr. Ishmael, sir?" Percy drew a deep breath.

"I want to kill a toad."

"Whyncha jus' trod on it, Sir?" Percy drew a deep breath.

"As much as I long to do precisely that, I regret that that particular course of action is at present not feasible. It will have to be a toxic compound of some sort."

"Poison you mean, sir?" Percy drew a deep breath.

"Precisely, sir, you are spot on. I wish to purchase a quantity of toad poison, if you please."

"Well, you've come to the right place sir, that's for sure. And about 'ow many toads would you be needin' to kill, sir."

"Just the one."

"One toad?" Percy drew a deep breath.

"Correct, one. It is however, potentially a very _large_ toad."

"Big 'un, eh sir?"

"Yes, very"

"'Bout 'ow much wooja say it weighed then, sir." Percy considered, and he grew a bit green, but he fought it down.

"I should say in the neighborhood of one hundred kilos." Borgin drew a deep breath.

"Tha's a big'un, no mistake. Well, no matter, I've got some stuff will kill an 'undred, 'undred kilo toads should you find that many." Percy shuddered and retched, but he fought it down.

"Just the one," he said firmly. A terrible feeling of unease had crept up his spine. But he fought it down.

"One more question, a minor concern hardly worth mentioning. What effect do you suppose said poison would have on say – a non-consenting and most unwilling human host?"

"Come again sir?" Percy drew a deep breath.

"What does it do, to people?"

"Oh, nothing much at all sir, nothing much at all; make you piss drunk, that's about it. 'Course,' Borgin joked, 'you might come to wi' yer 'ead lying in a pool of yer own womit. Hahaha." Percy fought it down.

"Most amusing, I'm sure. The poison, please?" Borgin disappeared into his storeroom, and returned soon with a small bottle of liquid. Percy paid him, tucked the bottle away in his pocket, and then turned to leave. But he stopped in the doorway.

"You are certain, are you, that this will indeed kill a very large toad?"

"No doubt about it sir. That there bottle of stuff will kill any toad you care to name, don't you worry." Percy smiled, and turned again to leave, but he did hear the disclaimer.

"'Cept of course an Umbridge-tad; bugger-all 'll kill them bastards. Doesn't come up much though. Anybody'd rather die, than do what it takes to get one of them," Borgin shuddered.

Percy drew a deep breath, and he fought it down.

Percy walked calmly back to his room, set the bottle of toad poison on the table, and neatly hung his dress robes in the wardrobe. He deposited his barely-worn socks and skivvies in the hamper, and donned the now _3_-day old pair of sour-smelling skivvies, and then resumed his place at the table and stared at the bottle of toad poison.

"_Just- fuck- me,"_ he sighed.

"Well, we'll have to wait and see about tomorrow. No point wasting perfectly good toad poison, though!"

Percy reached for the bottle.

There was steel in Percy Weasley, and he really was, a Man of Action.


	4. Chapter 4

Author:Lash_Larue

Title: Dolores Takes Action

Pairing:Percy/Dolores

Rating:R-NC-17, the "sex" is gone, but the language is rough

Summary:Percy forges ahead, Umbridge strikes back

Warnings:Foul language, Umbridge

Word Count:3600 or so

Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling. I really like JKR, and I offer my sincere apologies for this.

Chapter 4

Dolores Takes Action

Percy Weasley woke up.

This was a very courageous action on his part, and one he lately had come to rather want to avoid, but there it was.

He did not open his eyes right away, preferring to sort of sneak up on the day. He drew a deep breath.

"Funny,' he thought, 'I don't _smell_ vomit." He drew another deep breath. "No, no vomit. Merely a pair of 4-day old sour skivvies. Things are getting better!"

There was steel in Percy Weasley.

He opened his eyes, and looked. No vomit. A beatific smile lit his face. "Def-i-nate progress!" he chortled. "Now then, I shall prepare for the day ahead; now, hang-on… where's the headache? I got piss-drunk; I should have a headache at the least."

His eyes fell on the empty bottle of Toad Poison. "I'll be jiggered," he said. Percy's mind, which really was good with figures, did some rapid calculations. "That stuff costs less than a quarter of what cheap firewhisky costs!" He scribbled a note, called his owl, Hermes, over to him and tied the note to his leg. Hermes departed.

"Now for a good long soak, while I work out a plan!" Percy whistled all the way to the bathroom, where he sat watching the tub fill.

He felt a little _wriggle_, right behind his navel.

"_Fuck me right in the bloody ear,"_ he sighed, and he held his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Madame Umbridge, but we have received an owl with Mr. Percy Weasley's resignation. As he is no longer in Ministry employ, I simply cannot order him to come and see you," said the secretary.

Umbridge's wide face went pale.

"I see," she said in a soft, hissing voice. "Very well, Hoskins, and what, precisely, did Mr. Weasley give as his reason, for this sudden and drastic action?"

'Well, it was just the usual sort of thing, changing priorities, new direction in life, yadda-yadda-yadda, blah, blah, blah," Hoskins said nervously.

Umbridge didn't buy it. "Mr. Weasley never said yadda-yadda-yadda in his life, Hoskins,' she said coldly, 'what, _precisely_, did he say?"

Hoskins knew he was for it, and he took a huge gulp of air. He read from the note in his hand. "To the M.O.M., from the former employee, formerly known as Mr. Weasley, Percival: This is to inform you that I am resigning my position effective immediately. There is simply no fucking way in the world, that I am going to take the slightest chance of coming within reach of that fat, ugly, whore-bitch –from- the- bowels-of-hell, that filthy piece of distended rectum, Dolores Umbridge. All the Dementors in Azkaban couldn't force me to cross that threshold for all the gold in Gringotts." Hoskins cleared his throat nervously, "then he just uses the usual closing, Madame Umbridge." Well, he tried.

"Read the closing, please, Mr. Hoskins, dear," she said sweetly. Something in her tone caused Hoskins's testicles to crawl up into his chest, and Mr. Winky packed his bag and departed for cooler climates. He cleared his throat again.

"Sod off, the whole fucking lot of you. Especially you, you great blob of disgusting, putrid, carrion-smelling puss, Dolores. Sincerely yours: Used to be Percy Weasley." Hoskins was sweating hard now. Umbridge smiled, and the sweat turned to ice.

"That will be all, Hoskins." She flicked her wrist in dismissal, and Hoskins fled.

"_Thundering great bitch of a frog-spawned troll,"_ thought Hoskins as he gleefully left the office. _"I cannot believe that all of that ugly in one place does not simply burst into flame out of sheer self-loathing."_

Dolores squeezed the arms of her chair tightly, and her chest heaved in fury. Even Dolores Umbridge couldn't work _that_ missive 'round into a compliment. "Oh, I don't think it will take them all,' she hissed, 'I think six should prove to be quite sufficient. He won't spurn my flesh, and get away with it. Certainly not when he is carrying 'Little Dolores.'"

She reached for her quill; it was particularly sharp-looking, just then.

Percy soaked in the hot bath, trying to relax. It was hard to do, but the hot water helped, and he reminded himself that he had not, in fact, spent the night in his own vomit. It was a small thing, he reflected, but it wasn't nothing. He allowed his mind to wander through happier times, and as that covered a fair bit of ground, it took a while. He remembered when his father had been so terribly injured, and how he had resorted to muggle medic-

"Hang-on,' he said aloud, 'I seem to recall that those nutter Muggle healers make it a habit to actually _cut things out of people_." The idea of lying on a table split open like a trout while a Muggle seized the Umbridge-tad with a sharp clamp of some sort held an enormous appeal for him. His plan in place, Percy enjoyed his bath.

A cold chill enveloped Umbridge's office, and the sound of rattling, rasping breathing filled the air. A tall, hooded figure stood in front of her desk, and looked down at the wide, flapping mouth the sounds were coming from .

"I really do appreciate your attempting to speak Dementish, Madame Umbridge, dear, but you don't yet quite have the accent down. Shall we carry on in the King's English then?" he asked.

"Certainly, Mr. Charnel-breath, dear. I do realize that my Dementish is somewhat lacking. Perhaps I could arrange some, _private tutoring sessions with you?_ She batted her stubby eyelashes. Mr. Charnel-breath's stomach lurched, but he fought it down.

"Not possible, I regret to say, (Dementors could lie like very rugs) guild rules, you know. What can we do for you?"

"Pity,' said Dolores regretfully, 'well then. I want you to bring Mr. Percy Weasley to me here. You can suck out his soul if you have to, or even if you should just want to. But don't kill him, and don't hit him in the stomach." Mr. Charnel-breath bowed, and flew through the wall. "I'll see you soon, Mr. Weasley dear; I'll see you soon." She smiled, and her sharp teeth glinted in the torchlight.

Percy was in Flourish and Blotts, thumbing through a copy of "Habits and Customs of the Common British Muggle". He found the section on Muggle healers, called doctors, oddly enough. It was there that he first found mention of something called, the "National Health." He closed the book and headed for Muggle-London.

Thanks to his father's obsession, Percy knew a bit more about Muggles than the average Wizard. He knew what a telephone book was for, and he soon found one. He located an entry for "National Health", and headed for the given address. Inside he found a distressingly long queue, but he was determined, and he settled in to wait.

There was steel, in Percy used-to-be Weasley.

At last he reached the window. "Yes, sir, how may we help you today?" said the clerk.

"I wish to engage the services of a doctor, so that he, or she, might cut something unwanted out of my stomach, if you would be so kind," he told the clerk.

"Certainly, sir,' (the clerk had heard everything before, often twice),' might I see your National Health ID, then sir?"

"I'm sorry?" queried Percy.

"Your identification card, Mr, umm…"

"Grundy, Solomon Grundy," answered Percy firmly.

"I see Mr. Grundy, the card, then?"

"Sorry, haven't got one. Can we move along, please?"

"Not without a card, we can't," explained the clerk. Percy drew a deep breath.

"Right then, how do I obtain this so-very-important card?"

"Just go over to window "B" sir, they'll take care of you over there." Percy looked at the queue in front of window "B", and he drew a deep breath. But he carried on with his plan.

There was st- but you already know that.

Time dragged.

Time dragged some more.

"Time is really smegging dragging," thought Mr. Grundy. At last he came to the window.

"How may we help you Mr. ..."

"Fleming, Ian Fleming. I need to obtain a card."

"What sort of card, sir?" Ian drew a deep breath.

"A National Health card," he explained.

"Certainly Mr. Fleming, sir. Just fill this lot out." The clerk slammed a stack of papers approximately seventeen and-a-half centimeters thick in front of him on the counter. Ian Fleming fought it down.

"And then I get the card, I presume?" he enquired.

"Not precisely sir; then you take the completed forms over to window "C"."

Ian Fleming looked at the queue at window "C". It trailed out the door and down the street. He took a deep breath.

"Is there no other way, in all of England, to secure the services of a doctor?"

"Of course there is sir, just go to a private physician,sir. It'll take a bit of brass, but it's easy enough."

Well, one thing that Percy formerly-Weasley knew from Muggle studies was, that that was Muggle talk for money. He examined his Gringotts account mentally. He had nearly three hundred galleons. "Right then, where shall I find a private physician?"

"Depends what you want done, Mr. Fleming."

"I wish to have an inimical life-form cut out of my stomach," intoned Percy.

"Well then, you want a surgeon, and there is an excellent man, just 9 doors south of here."

"Capital!' said Percy-Ian formerly-Weasley-Fleming. Progress! He left the building with a definite spring in his step.

"He's not here, Charnel–breath."

"I can see that, Dung-snot," answered Charnel-breath.

"So what do we do now? _Her Grace_ will have our robes if we go back without him," queried Snot-dung.

"We wait." The chill deepened in the room above the Leaky Cauldron

Percy skipped up the steps of Dr. Flay's office, opened the door, and strode boldly up to the reception desk. "How may we help you, Mr. …?"

"Copperfield, David Copperfield. I wish to engage the services of a competent surgeon, in order to remove an invading, incipient bufanidae from my stomach."

"Right…, and how will you be paying Dr. Flay then, sir?"

"Brass, ducky, good old brass," David assured her.

"Well, you're in luck, Mr. Copperfield. Doctor's had a cancellation, and he can see you right away."

"At LAST!" thought David Copperfield. "Now we're getting somewhere!" The receptionist escorted him into Dr. Flay's office.

"Mr. Copperfield to see you Doctor, he says he has something in his stomach."

"Have a seat sir," said the Doctor. "What sort of thing is it in your stomach then?"

"A most unwelcome, immature bufanidae," replied David Weasley.

"Do you mean a toad, sir?" Percy was heartened; Doctor Flay clearly knew his stuff.

"Well, it's not a toad yet, and I hope to secure its removal before that comes to pass."

"So it's a tadpole, then, I suppose." At the sound of the syllable "tad", Percy Copperfield's stomach lurched, but he fought it down.

"Quite so."

"How did the tadpole come to be in your stomach, may I ask?"

"Swallowed it," said Pervid Weaselfield.

"On purpose?"

"Not at all, diving accident."

"What sort of diving accident causes you to swallow a tadpole?"

"Muff-diving, I expect. Can we just get on with this?"

Doctor Flay was convinced that he had a nutter on his hands, but brass was brass.

"Well sir, just pop up on the table, and we'll take a look at the situation."

"How in blazes are you going to look inside my stomach?"

"Ultrasound, very latest thing."

"Ultrasound?" asked Davcy, interested, in spite of himself.

"Yes, we project high frequency sound waves into the affected area, and a picture shows up on that screen," explained the Doctor.

"You're winding me up."

"Not at all, but I admit that it might seem like magic," Dr. Flay chortled.

"_Not even remotely,"_ thought Davper Copeasel.

Soon enough, whoever the hell he was at the minute found himself stretched on his back, his stomach covered in some sort of cold slime. The doctor was rubbing an instrument back and forth over his stomach. Suddenly, there on the screen…

"Well I'll be buggered," exclaimed the Doctor.

"Been there, had that done. Now would you please cut me open and get that wretched thing out of me?"

"Beats the hell out of me how the thing can live in stomach acid, but there it is, big as life."

"Fascinating, no doubt. The cutting?" insisted Perfield.

"Well, we won't have to cut you open for this, I'll do it endoscopically," said Dr. Flay.

"What?"

"I'll show you, very latest technology. Quick, safe, and recovery time is cut to nil." Dr Flay reached into a drawer, and came up with what looked like garden hose with a handle on it. "I simply slide this down your throat, into your stomach, and then grab the little bugger with the forceps function."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," said Mr. Fieldpeas.

"Not to worry, we'll give you something to make you sleep. You'll just drift off, and when you wake up, it will all be over."

A blissful smile appeared on the face of Mr. Peaweasle. "Do it!"

"No time today, sir. Prior engagements. But I can fit you in first thing Monday morning."

This was Friday; not bad he thought, I'll just hole up in my room. The time may pass slowly, but pass it will. "Fine."

"There is the matter of payment, sir," mentioned the surgeon.

"Of course, of course, how much will it be then?"

"Five thousand pounds, sir."

Percy did the math. He really did have a good head- but you know that too.

"TWO -THOUSAND FREAKING GALLEONS?!"

"Don't know about galleons, Sir, but it's 5,000 pounds right enough. See you Monday morning at 10 sharp. By 10:30, it will all be taken care of."

He trudged home in a daze, where, in the entire world, was he going to get nearly 2,000 galleons by Monday? Tom greeted him when he arrived, but Percy ignored him, and went up to his room. He didn't notice the cold until he had closed the door, and sat at his table.

"_Oh, just, SO, fuck me,"_ he moaned. And then he noticed the chill, and he heard the rattling breath of the Dementors. He raised his head, and saw the 6 dark, tall, evil creatures gliding slowly towards him. He felt – actually, he felt more pissed off than much of anything else.

"Sod off, you lot," he barked, "I've got to come up with two-thousand galleons by Monday A.M., so that some Muggle nutter can shove a garden hose down my throat, into my God-damned stomach, and try to jerk that beastly little, wriggling, ever-fucking thing out of my guts. I've got an Umbridge-tad in me, and I got it the hard way. There is not one single thing that you have got, can get your hands on, or even fucking _IMAGINE_, that can scare me in the least. So save yourselves the effort, and simply sod The _FUCK OFF!"_

That did bring them up rather short, actually. The Dementors went into a huddle.

"Wheeewwww, he's that pissed, innee?" said Pile-itch in a tone of admiration.

" 'E's bluffin',' countered Smeggamite, ' 'e'll scare right enough, just like they all do,"

"Don' think so,' opined Dung-snot, 'you 'eard 'im.. E's got an Umbridge-tad, _the hard way…_ you know what that means…." The Dementor's stomachs lurched, but they fought it down. Except for Hurlspuke, who blew chunks right into Percy's hamper.

"Sorry, lad," apologized Hurlspuke.

"Think nothing of it," said Percy gallantly, 'there's hardly anything in there at all, save some four or five day old sour-smelling underwear." The Dementors fought it down, except for Hurlspuke. And Smeggamite. Smeggamite just couldn't _stand_ to see Hurlspuke puke.

"Steady-on there, lads," protested Percy. Smeggamite and Hurlspuke waved in apology, and Percy returned the wave.

"No, we won't scare this one," averred Snot-dung. "There's steel, in this one."

"Right then, we suck out his soul,' decided Charnel-breath, (he was the leader for a reason) 'okay lads, soul-suck on three. One – two- three…"

"_SOUL-SUCK!"_ cried the Dementors as they floated high and clashed their gray and slimy mitts together. They once again drifted towards Percy.

"Oh, just _fine_, now they're going to suck out my soul. That is just plain dandy, that is." He thought about simply letting it happen, but he just couldn't stand the thought of Umbridge smiling in victory. He drew his wand and stood up.

"Let me see, it's Expecto Patronum. Yes, that's it. And I have to think of something really happy… well, it certainly does suck to be me, dunnit?" But he did the best he could, because, there was- nevermind.

"_EXPECTO- BLOODY- PATRONUM!"_ he bellowed. Instantly, something burning white, and… really quite small, actually, burst from his wand. The whatever-the-hell-it-was ricocheted all over the room at an astounding speed. It didn't merely drive the Dementors away, it _shattered_ them into smoke. Only Charnel-breath escaped with his un-life, to carry the tale of terror back to Dolores Umbridge.

Percy watched as the tiny creature slowed, and then stopped by his side. Percy gazed down at his Patronus. "A House-elf? What the devil kind of Patronus is a House-elf? I thought I would get a lion or something?"

"Well, begging your pardon now, Perce," said his Patronus , "but when your happiest memory is waking up in a puddle of your own puke… you just don't get a lion from that, old son."

"Fair enough, and I can't say you didn't do the job. Simply _smashing_, really."

"Thank you, sir," the elf replied.

"What shall I call you then?"

"Bastard, sir, just Bastard, Bastard the House-elf," Bastard said quietly. He gave a lop-sided, House-elf sort of grin.

"Well then, wonderful to know you Bastard. I say! However did you get those awful blisters all over you?"

"I got burned, sir. Boiling hot tea, actually," answered Bastard.

"So that would make you…."

"Scalded Bastard, the House-elf sir."

"AT LAST,' exulted Percy, 'fate is on my side!"

"Will that be all then, sir?" asked the little Patronus.

"I should think so; I can't imagine a Dementor coming back after that!"

"No sir, I shouldn't think so, sir. Well, yell if you need me, I'll just pop off now; see if I can find out who my father is. Later, sir." He disappeared with a pop.

"Plucky little chap. I daresay I'm rather fond of him. Hope he finds his dad." He looked around and saw a large carton by the door. The carton was marked, "Borgin & Burkes." "Things are looking up, INDEED!" crowed Percy. "Right then, time to clear up that Dementor puke." Percy whistled his way to the sink.

"Did you bring him?" asked Umbridge, peering about her office.

"No. And we won't be going after him again, that's for sure. You can do your own dirty work for a change. I lost 5 of my best lads on this job," Charnel-breath told her, sneering.

Umbridge was stunned. "You can't talk to me like that," she gasped in outrage.

"Well now, it seems to me I just did, you great ugly cow."

"Well! I never!"

"Not consensually, I'm sure."

Dolores was speechless. For an instant. "You will do what I tell you to do. And I am telling you to bring me Percy Weasley!"

"Piss off, ducky. You don't have a leg to stand on." Charnel-breath reached into his robes, and withdrew a thick sheaf of paper. "It says very clearly, right here in the Guild contract, section "C", paragraph three –hundred-twenty-seven, sub-paragraph 14, line 8, and I quote…"No Dementor, or Dementors, may be compelled to engage any Witch or Wizard protected by a Scalded Bastard House-elf Patronus. Read it and weep, bitch. You've got trouble with the guild."

The guild bit did concern her, but she had to ask,. "But, a _House-elf_?"

"Oh yes, I assure you that a Scalded Bastard House-elf is the most dangerous possible Patronus. Quite a fuckin' thing, Scalded Bastard House-elves are. See you in court, you scrofulous cunt." Charnel- breath flew away.

For a time, her astonishment outweighed her anger. But that soon passed. "Mr. Weasley, dear,' she said, pausing to nab a passing fly, 'you have not seen the last of Dolores Umbridge…."

Percy had his room all spic-and-span once again. There was a light in his eye and a spring in his step. "A really excellent day, if I do say so myself," he said aloud as he tore open the carton from Borgin and Burkes, revealing a stash of Toad-poison. "I've got it set to rid myself of this beastly little bit of flotsam, I've got a shiny new Patronus, and a fresh case of Toad-poison! Now all I need do is come up with…_two-THOUSAND galleons!_"

Percy removed his clothes and laid the outer layer away in his wardrobe, he fished around in his hamper and hauled out the four or five day old sour-smelling-Dementor-puke covered skivvies and pulled them on. He sat down at the table.

"Well,' he sighed, 'I suppose it could be worse. But I have to say, that in all honesty, that it certainly does seem to suck to be me."

Percy reached for the bottle.

There was Dementor puke, on Percy Weasley.


	5. Chapter 5

Author:Lash_Larue

Title:Percy 5 -"Two THOUSAND Galleons"

Pairing:Percy/Darn near anyone or anything, really

Rating:R, some bad words, maybe all of them

Summary: Just another day for Percy

Warnings:I may have mentioned bad words, and it might insult everyone and everything, it's not quite as sedate as the first ones. Weird Universe. Likely squicky, if you've read the others you know, if you haven't you will have no idea what is going on

Word Count:5500, marked down to 5495

Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling, and the creators of South Park, Percy does, and a couple others, the goddesses belong to themselves.

To my friends who herein appear, may they forgive me.

Chapter 5

_Two THOUSAND galleons_

Percy Weasley woke up.

He didn't want much want to by now, but there it was.

"Puke,' he said to himself, 'def-i-nate puke. Bugger."

He was quite right, of course. Percy Weasley knew puke by now, if he knew nothing else. But he opened his eyes, and he sat up anyway, because… there was (altogether now, you know the words.)

He had been propped up at his table. His head pounded with pain, and the taste in his mouth was simply past all description. "My dear sweet Lord! The taste in my mouth is simply past all description!" A strange sense of deja-vu passed over him.

He tried to recall the dream that he had been having shortly before waking to his accustomed personal hell. It was a marvelous dream, in fact. The very best dream that Percy had ever had; for in this dream, a very _Goddess_, with verrah dark brown hair, had walked naked through melting, slushy snow, her perfect body covered in beautiful art. She was carrying a few groceries, and a carton of take-out that she had ordered by the mere mention of her name. The Goddess had done all this, merely to almost _beg_ Percy to sleep unclothed; as she was.

"Guuhhh," said Percy Weasley.

Percy looked down, and sure enough, the five-and-a-half day old sour-smelling, Dementor-puke covered pair of skivvies was gone, and he couldn't find them anywhere.

"Perhaps it wasn't a dream at all,' thought Percy, 'perhaps she was really here. Perhaps she took my skivvies with her, as a remembrance…" Give credit where credit is due. When Percy dreamed, he dreamed big. Or not; at the thought of the Goddess, Percy felt an old, familiar stirring in his lap. He looked down. "Well,' he said to himself, 'it's a small thing, but it isn't nothing."

Percy knew the drill well enough by now, and it wasn't long before he had the puke cleaned up, and the well-used bucket and sponge put away properly. "Now for a bath," he said aloud, and he cautiously opened the bathroom door. "Hello,Mr.-" he almost heard.

Percy started the water in the tub, and he sat on the toilet while he waited for it to fill. He thought about the Goddess. A lot. _"Fuck me,"_ he breathed.

"Never gonna happen,' replied the Goddess, 'do it yourself, ducky." There had been some indefinable something about her that had let Percy know that while she wanted to see him rest comfortably, that that was as far as it was going to go. But she was still beautiful.

Then he began to remember a bit more. He thought he remembered getting a case of the munchies, after he had lost track of the Goddess. He began to recall a pizza delivery in a vague sort of way, as he sat there watching the tub fill. It must have been a pretty large pizza, because he really felt quite ill, now he thought about it. He remembered that the crust was really chewy, rather than crisp. It had been topped with …goat-cheese?"

Percy blew chunks all over the loo.

He was clearing up the bathroom, when he found amongst the remains a loop of something sort of stretchy. "What's this?" he wondered. "It's nearly as big 'round as my wais-… well, that explains the goat-cheese pizza!" he said as he snapped the elastic ring into the bucket of puke. "One less pair of skivvies to wash! The things one will do,' he marveled, 'to please a naked, verrah dark brown haired, tattooed, slush-walking, grocery-and-take-out carrying Goddess…."

Percy felt it was fair payment for the dream. He was right.

Percy soaked in the third change of water.

Percy thought about his problem, and it deserved concern. How was he to get two-thousand galleons by early Monday? He surely couldn't ask his parents, and even if they weren't on the outs, the Weasleys had never had close to two-thousand galleons in ready cash.

Percy finished his bath, dressed, and sat down to think. His eyes strayed to the case of Toad-poison on the table. There was plenty left. Percy reached for a bottle… Hermes flapped in through the window, and dropped the "Daily Prophet" in front of Percy.

"Thank you. Hermes, old boy, just go and scratch around in the hamper and see what you come up with." Hermes flew to hamper and scratched around. Hermes flipped Percy the bird, and flew off through the window. Hermes really, really, looked pissed off.

There it was, splashed across the headlines…"ALL-ENGLAND OPEN TRACK AND FIELD EVENT! CASH PRIZES TO THE WINNER!"

"FATE!' cried Percy, 'is once again on my side." He read the article, and found the location of the track meet. "Just time to get to Gringotts, withdraw my money, and settle a nice big pile on me at the track meet." He dressed swiftly, and headed for Gringotts.

"Blimey,Tom! Weasley again, was it?"

"I fink so. Didn't get a good look. He's dead fast though, inne?"

"Fast as a scalded bastard House-elf, I reckon. Give us another then, Tom, that's the ticket."

"I wish to withdraw three hundred galleons," said Percy formally. (Which was of course, the proper way to conduct business)

"Of course sir," said the Gobin teller. "May I see the key then please?" Percy handed it over, and the Goblin examined it narrowly. "Right then, sir. And may I enquire as to the reason why you are withdrawing all of your funds at once, sir?"

"You certainly may; however you won't get an answer. I want my money, and there's an end to it." Percy believed that the customer was always right. The Goblins didn't give a damn. Gringotts was the only game in town.

Percy got his money and left.

"Hey, Crapshoot!" called Percy's teller.

"Yes, Rimshot old boy?"

"Wasn't that the fellow who's as fast as a scalded House-elf?"

"Indeed it was, Rimshot."

"Now why do you suppose a fast young lad like that might be emptying his account, while he's carrying the Prophet? The cover story of said prophet, mind you, being the All-England Track Meet, Crapshoot, old son?"

"Keeping up on current events, and looking to buy a lot of takeout for a naked, verrah dark brown haired, tattooed, slush-walking Goddess I suppose, Rimshot."

"Crapshoot?"

"Yes, Rimshot?"

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?" asked Rimshot.

"I dunno, really. Must've been a dream I reckon. And a fekkin' marvelous dream it was too." Crapshoot's eyes got a dreamy look in them. "In addition to the aforementioned naked Goddess, there was another Naked Goddess underneath an old car. Her hair was like flame, and the sight of her twisting those wrenches, 'er muscles ripplin' 'neath all that lovely, lovely skin… Guuhhh…" Crapshoot shivered, but he couldn't shut up. "And yet another Goddess; naked too, of course, 'er 'air was 2 inches above 'er waist, kind of streaky-brown like. An' it was flyin' all aroun', and there weren't no bref of wind, an' it, an' it smelled like _coconuts an' orchids_…" Crapshoot was sweating profusely, and shaking a good deal. "An' then; an' then, there was this short Goddess, wearin' her usual black leather bustier, an, 'a black leather mini wit' thigh-high spiked-heel boots, an' dark hair an' eyes, and she was explaining when to use a comma, and when to use a _semi-colon…"_

"CRAPSHOOT!" barked Rimshot.

"Yes, Rimshot?"

"Go to the locker room an' take care of yer little problem in private. Then take a cold shower, you deluded pervert, and then get yer arse back out here. We're goin' to the races!"

So was Percy.

Percy strode up to the registration desk.

"How may we help you, sir?"

"I wish to register as a competitor in this event," said Percy formally, which was of course, the way to enter a track meet.

"Yes, sir, and your name please, sir?"

"Bond; James Bond," said James Bond. The registrar's eyebrows rose.

"Really? Your name is really James Bond?"

"Hardly. What the hell difference does it make? You're just going to slap a number on me anyway, aren't you?" asked James Weaselbond.

"Well, you'll get a number right enough, that's the truth. But we have to have your name for the Inland Revenue, sir," said the man apologetically.

"The what?" queried Pames Bondweasel.

"The Min, sir." Percy got it then.

"What the hell does the race have to do with the Ministry?"

"Well, sir, as you doubtless know, all winnings are subject to taxation."

"What the Devil is that?"

The registrar was sure that he had a nutter on his hands, but it was a job, and he had it to do. "The government takes the bulk of your winnings, sir."

"What the Hell for?" asked Perbond Weaseled.

"'Cause they can, I reckon," shrugged the registrar. That of course made perfect sense, to Bond Jamesweasle.

"I'll just stick with James Bond then. The Min will get their brass either way, won't they?"

"Too right they will, lad. Too right they will," the Registrar's stomach lurched. But he fought it down. "And what events would you be wanting to enter then, ?"

"Whattaya got?"

"All sorts, sir. What might be your specialty then, Mr. Bond?"

"Call me James," said Mr. Bond. "Well, I'm as fast as a scalded bastard House-elf."

"Yes, sir, you'll be wanting the sprints, then sir," the registrar had heard everything before, except that. But he didn't really give a shit. He was a temp, but he had heard "fast", and so he got it right in the end. And that's all that matters.

"Fine, sign me up!"

"Which sprint sir?"

"Which? What do you mean?"

"Well, there's the "'undred meter sprint…"

"No, nothing with, 'undred in it, if you please." James Bond had an active dislike for the number.

"I'm afraid they've all got 'undred in 'em somewhere or other sir." "Nutter…" thought the registrar.

"Which one carries the biggest purse?" asked Percy Weasley via James Bond, because Percy really did have a good head for - say it with me.

"All the same sir, an 'undred pounds prize money." Percy fought it down. And he did the conversion, because Percy really did have a good head for figures. Oops, sorry, your turn next.

"Which one comes first?"

"The "undred meters sir." Percy fought it - go ahead- finish it.

"Sign me up!"

"What's your best time in the 'undred meters sir?"

"What do you mean?"

"Definite nutter," thought the registrar. He was right of course. "How long does it take you to run one hundred meters, sir?"

James Bond had to admit that he had a problem with this one. "What's your best time thus far?"

"A bit under ten seconds sir." Percy did not do the math, because a second was just a second, and he was confident.

"Half of that, I should think."

"_Oh yes,'_ thought the registrar, _'nutter for sure."_ He wrote down 47 seconds, because he thought that looked about right. "Fine sir, your number is 007."

Percy had a secret vice for Muggle literature. Where else would he have come up with all these names? "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Odd, how things happen sometimes, innit Mr. Bond?"

"Do you expect me to talk?" snapped James Bond.

"No Mr. Bond, I expect you to _die_!" crowed Goldfinger triumphantly… oops, sorry….

"Yes, very odd," agreed Mr. Bond. Percy paid his ten pounds to enter the race. He strolled over to the starting area and looked over his competition. "Nothing but muscle," he said, "piece of cake." Percy Bond moved off looking for the bookmakers. He found them soon enough.

"I wish to place a bet on the One Hundred Meter Race," he said formally, which, of course, is the proper way to lay a bet.

"Right then, who do you like?"

"Penelope Clearwater, but I'm not too sure she cares all that much for me anymore, and what the fuck business is it of yours anyway?" James Bond was tired of questions.

"_Nutter for sure,"_ thought the bookie, but brass was brass. The bookie drew a deep breath. "Which competitor do you wish to bet on, sir?"

"Oh-Oh-Seven, ducky,' snarled James Bond, 'the whole pile on Oh-Oh-7." Mr. Bond threw down a fat stack of money.

"Excuse me, Mr. Weasley," said Crapshoot .

"I haven't the faintest idea who you are referring too," said James Bond, his lip curled in a sneer, the black comma of hair on his… (that just won't fly here, will it?)

"You're the lad who drew out three hundred galleons a bit ago. AND mind you, 'ad it converted to pounds." said Crapshoot menacingly. Percy felt a thrill of fear run down his spine.

"_Goblins!"_ he thought_… "Come to that though, what the fuck can these two gits do to me that hasn't already been done?"_ "What's it to your arse anyway, then ?" snapped 007.

Crapshoot looked at Rimshot; and the unspoken message passed between them. _"There's steel, in James Bond-Weasley."_

"We were in the way of wonderin', Mr. Bond, just which race you might be entered in"

Percy saw no reason not to tell them. Except that they were Goblins. That was enough, though.

"Smeg off," quipped James Bond, ever-ready with a devastating comeback.

"Oh, there's no need to take that tone, Mr. Bond," said Rimshot.

"Do you expect me to talk?" snapped James Bond.

"What the fuck are you talkin' about Mr. Bond? Me and Crapshoot are Goblins, not ruddy James Bond super villains. Look around, fer Chrissake, you see Pussy Galore anywhere?"

Percy had a vision of a naked streaky-brown-redhead-raven –verrah-dark- brown haired, tall, short, Goddess wearing a bustier, holding a torque wrench, lying on a creeper with her hair two inches above her waist, said hair was flying all about in a non-existant wind; begging him to sleep naked. "Yes,' answered Percy', 'I do indeed see pussy galore, but for an indefinable reason, I am perfectly sure that none of it is going to land on my face in the foreseeable future. Unless of course, Global Warming completely inverts the time-space continuum, in that case I might get lucky." In that he was mistaken, but you have to admire the fact, that when James Bond dreamed, he dreamed big.

"Mr. Bond," asked Crapshoot.

"Yes?"

"Wotinell are you blatherin' about ?"

"The Impossible Dream!"

"Rimshot?"

"Yes, Crapshoot?"

""Ee's Barkin', Ellen Barkin'"

"Crapshoot?"

"Yes, Rimshot?"

"Shut the fuck up. Look, Mr. Bond, me and Crapshoot the Horny here want to bet a big load of galleons on you. You're fast as a scalded House-elf, and these gits don't stand a chance. Just tell us the race you're in, and we'll cut you in for 25%. Whaddaya say."

It was an easy choice. "Done!" said Percy, and he shook Rimshot's hand, thereby sealing an absolutely unbreakable, magically enforced bond not to welch on the bet.

"Sucker,' said Rimshot, "we could have gone 30%."

"You could also have looked at the thirty by forty yard bulletin board covered in flashing lights. Who's the bitch now, bitch?"

There was bad old TV dialogue, in James Bond.

"Bugger!" said Rimshot.

"Love to!" replied Crapshoot.

James Bond fought it down. Then he caught a gleam in Crapshoot's eyes. "You've seen them, haven't you?" snapped Jercy Beasley.

"Do you expect me to talk?" replied Crapshoot, sneering in disdain.

"Yes."

Crapshoot's eyes grew unfocused, and he replied in a dreamy voice, "The Goddesses…."

"That's them allright.' agreed Pond Weasel, "Walking naked in the slush –"

"Carryin' a carton o' takeout; with verrah dark brown hair" added Crapshoot. Mr. Bond nodded.

"Redhead naked under the car… _torque wrench_…"

"Soft skin, beautiful red hair…." said Crapshoot.

"I already said red hair."

"I like red hair…"

"Quite so. Another Goddess? Streaky brown hair, two inches above the waist?" asked Bond.

"Flies around when there ain't no wind? Smells like orchids an…."

"GUUUHHHHHHHHHH!" groaned James Bondshoot.

"Short one?" panted Crapshoot.

"Leather bustier? Whip? Commas? _Semi_colons,_" heaved Pervy Weasond, sweating and trembling.

"Ohh yes,' sighed Crapshoot, 'I remember her right enough." Crapshoot's eyes narrowed. "Did you,' he hesitated, and then he licked his lips and whispered, 'did you see the other one?"

Bames Jonds heart almost stopped. "She was reclined on a chaise lounge…."

"Naked…."

"Of course naked, you Goblin git, why else bother with this sort of fantasy? We're certainly not going to run through four either naked or kinky-clad Goddesses and then put this one in a Mother Hubbard, are we, old son?"

"'Course not, I just like naked Goddesses…," admitted Crapshoot.

"Masses and masses of hair… and in her lap…."

"A cat…" breathed Crapshoot.

"What color was the cat?" queried Berc hoarsely.

Crapshoot's eyes got rather shifty, "I can't say, really, might have been a little fluffy…" Percy nodded. They were both lying, they remembered clearly what color the cat was, they were just afraid to say it.

"She was rubbing the cat…" breathed Bond. Well, what else do you do with a lap cat?

"And 'er 'air was, was…"

"_Making love with her.."._ sighed James Weasley-Bond. His eyes met the bulging eyes of the aroused Goblin, and in that moment he knew… and so did Crapshoot. They shared something precious, something unique; something no one else could share. James Bond looked at Crapshoot, at the long, strong, Goblin-fingers. He imagined them wrapped around his straining manhood, he-

SLAPSLAP! Both Percy's head and Crapshoot's head rocked from the force of the slaps.

"Listen up, you two delusional, horndog, pervs,' growled Rimshot, 'you two nancys work this out on your own time. There's gold at stake here you sick bastards! You can't be drainin' 'is energy right before a race, you stupid fucks."

Well, they had to bow to that wisdom. And anyway, Rimshot could slap like a bastard, and they didn't care for another. With a lingering glance over his shoulder, Crapshoot followed Rimshot over to the bookies. Percy gazed longingly after the retreating figure, and then he looked down at his running shorts.

"Not much wind drag there, no worries! It's a small thing, but it's not quite… (throw him a bone, would you.)

The race was comical. The competitors lined up in the blocks, they got set, the masses of finely honed, ruthlessly trained muscle tensed, coiled steel ready to spring… except for Percy, who was standing with his arms crossed, whistling. The starter looked enquiringly at him, Percy just waved him on. The starter shrugged, it was unconventional, but it wasn't against the rules. The gun fired.

Masses of superbly honed athletic muscle hurled themselves down the track. _"Magnificent!"_ thought Percy.

"RUN! YOU FUCKIN' GIT!" yelled Rimshot.

Percy was standing calmly at the finish when the sweaty crowd crossed the line.

What did you expect? He was fast as a scalded bastard house-elf, after all.

Percy graciously accepted the congratulations of the also-rans, slapped them all on the bottom in a gesture of jock camaraderie, and then strolled over to the bookies with the feel of an Albanian sprinter's arse branded on his soul.

There was wood, in Percy Weasley.

Crapshoot and Rimshot paid up almost cheerfully, for Goblins parting with galleons. And if Crapshoot's eyes lingered on Percy's and if his long, strong fingers trembled a bit when he handed over Percy's share… well, some things are private.

Now you might think that the bookies would have been right pissed at Percy coming in a winner at fifty-seven to one. And you would be correct, and they did send out the goons to waylay poor Perce on his way home. But the simple fact was that they stood no chance at all. Percy never even noticed them as he ran back to the Leaky Caldron. Percy really was as fast as a scalded … come on… let's hear it.

Percy shuddered to a stop at the bar. "Evenin' Perce," Tom greeted him. Tom thought Percy might just be ready for another load of firewhisky. But Percy had switched to Toad-poison; however….

"Drinks all around Tom," said Percy magnanimously. Come down to it, Percy was pretty generous when he had some lolly to spread 'round. He just wasn't used to it. "And keep them coming until the whole lot is piss-drunk!" Percy threw a handful of galleons onto the bar. Tom got a bit excited.

"Right you are, Mr. Weasley, sir! Right you are!" exclaimed Tom.

"The name,' said Percy in a menacing tone, 'is Longstocking." A chill ran down Tom's spine, and he knew his life was hanging by a thread. "Pippilotta, Delicatessa, Windowshade, Mackrelmint, Efraim's Daughter, Longstocking. And don't you _ever_ forget it."

Tom's testicles crawled up into his lungs, and Mr. Winky caught the Last Train to Clarksville.

"Yes sir, of course sir, Mr. Pippilotta Delicatessa Windowdowshade Mackrelmint Efraim's Daughter Longstocking, sir," said Tom, trembling.

"Call me Pippi!" said Pippi heartily, and Pippi clapped Tom on the shoulder. Pippi vanished up the stairs to visit her monkey, Mr. Nilsson.

Pippi failed to notice that the room was very cold. So cold in fact, that Mr. Nilsson was huddled up next to Hermes trying to keep warm. Hermes was trying to decide whether or not he was in the mood to eat a little monkey just then.

Percy heard rasping breathing, and he leapt up from the table as he drew his wand. There on the other side of the table, a Dementor was sitting.

"Easy lad, please!" asked Mr. Charnel-breath desperately, his palms up before his face. "I just want a word with you, that's all. No need to summon that little bastard again!" Percy did not lower his wand, but he held back. "Now then, I hope you know our last little meeting was nothing personal, Mr. Weasley-"

"The name,' Pippi snarled, 'is Longstocking…."

Mr. Charnel-breath felt the hot hand of fear on his throat.

"Of course, Mr. Longstocking-"

"Pippi…Longstocking…."

Mr. Charnel-breaths testic- no, sorry, Dementors don't pack that sort of weapon. But if they did, everything would have been in full retreat. Pippi Longstocking was one scary bitch.

"Ms. Longstocking?" tried the quaking Dementor. Pippi nodded, his eyes squinted into deadly-looking slits.

"As I was saying, then, Ms. Longstocking, our visit was strictly business. We're under contract to the Ministry, you know. Madame Umbridge is a bit concerned about your absence. Seems she's a bit worried about a little something that she placed in your keeping, so to speak." Pippi and the Dementor fought it down.

"But she made a mistake this time, the putrid pile of excrescence from the bowels of Hell. She made a mistake all right, Ms. Longstocking," said Mr. Charnel-breath, unholy glee dripping from every syllable.

"Call me Pippi," said Pippi. Pippi was beginning to warm up to Mr. Charnel-breath.

"Pleasure, Pippi, I'm Bruce," said Bruce the Dementor.

"Bruce? What about Charnel-breath, Dung-snot, Hurlspuke, that sort of good old-fashioned Dementor name?"

Bruce shrugged, "Window-dressing, it's just a menace kind of thing. We've all got names just like everybody else. Except for Hurlspuke. His Mum named him Hurlspuke the day he was born, and he spent his life trying to live up to her expectations," said Bruce, a little sadly. "He wasn't a bad sort, his lover, Kenny, is all broken up about his death. But it goes with the job. They knew the risks. Dementing isn't easy, Pippi, not easy at all…." Bruce's voice trailed off, and his head bowed.

Pippi was shocked. Who would have thought that a Dementor could be so vulnerable, that a Dementor would be subject to the same wants and needs as everybody else? Pippi looked at Bruce through new eyes, and he saw what might be a friend, in time.

The air in the room suddenly got much colder, and several things happened in a flash. Pippi heard the terrifying cry, _"SOUL-SUCK!"_, and looked up to see a grief-crazed Dementor swooping down on him, his hood thrown back revealing a horrible, gaping maw. Pippi went for his wand, but he knew that there just – wasn't – time….

Something burning white, and… really quite small, actually, flew past Pippi's shoulder and the attacking Dementor shattered into smoke.

"Oh my God!" screamed Bruce. "He killed Kenny!"

Pippi's chest swelled with pride, "He's _BASTARD!_, cried Pippi. Bastard came to a stop by Pippi, and gazed narrowly at Bruce.

"Should I sort this one out too, then, since I'm here, Ms. Longstocking, sir?" enquired the little Bastard.

"No-no, no need, Bruce is a friend." At these words, Bruce's trembling subsided, and he looked at Pippi, through new skin-covered eye-sockets. A brand new feeling of warmth began to grow in his chest.

"I never had a friend before,' he whispered, 'thanks, Pippi."

"Call me Pip," said Pip, smiling warmly at Bruce. Bastard rolled his eyes. "How did you happen to show up just in the nick of time like that, you Magnificent Bastard?!" asked Pip. "I never got to the summoning charm."

"I'm not so sure myself," answered Bastard, slowly shaking his head. "I just had this sudden, overwhelming feeling that I should pop in. It was like… it was like I'd already killed this very same Dementor a hundred times before. But he keeps coming back… the hooded son-of-a-bitch." Silence enveloped the room.

Pippi shook off the silence. "Had any luck finding your Dad then, Bastard?"

"Some, I've got it narrowed down to the Denver Broncos or Chef," replied Bastard, a satisfied look on his face.

"Well then, best of luck, Bastard my friend, I'll keep my fingers crossed for you."

"Thank you, sir. I'll be around if you need me," he looked meaningfully at Bruce. Bruce felt the hot hand of fear clutch at what he didn't really have, because he was a Dementor. But it hurt anyway. Bastard disappeared with a crack.

"Sorry about Kenny there, Bruce," offered Pip.

"It's for the best, it was quick and clean. He didn't have anything to live for since Hurlspuke died, anyway," said Bruce sadly.

Pippi felt sympathy tug at his heart. He tried to distract Bruce. "So Bruce, what do you think, Denver Broncos, or Chef?"

"Oh, Chef, I should think. That little bastard is one bad mother-fucker…."

"Hush your mouth," said Pip. Pip had just noticed that Bruce's mouth was hanging open. A little sob of grief and fear escaped from it. Moved by a kind impulse, he put his hand on the gray, slimy hand of his new friend. To his great surprise, the hand was quite warm, it was soft and slippery, but it was quite warm. _"That's where the cold comes from,"_ said Pip to himself, _"Bruce just draws all the warmth into himself…."_

Bruce looked up in mute gratitude at the gesture of comfort, the unaccustomed feeling of being cared for flowing through him like wine. His mouth trembled, and a low sound of longing came from it.

"If his hand is this warm and soft,' thought Pip, 'how soft, and _hot_, that mouth must feel." Pip swallowed hard, and his eyes met Bruce's sockets. Bruce gave a knowing smile, and slipped slowly beneath the table. Pip felt a hot wetness on his lap….

"STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT RIGHT THIS FUCKING MINUTE, YOU PSYCHO _BITCH!" _ Pip screamed as he leapt to his feet and shook his fist at the ceiling.

"How much more of this shit do I have to put up with, hey? Never mind the last four episodes of whatever the FUCK you call this diseased claptrap! Never mind that at bloody all! Let's just talk about TODAY, you fucking Harpy! I wake up in a pool of my own vomit, well you'd think I'd be used to that by now, wouldn't you? Well I'm NOT, and I'm not bloody likely to EVER get fucking used to it, either! You give me a great dream about a Naked, Verrah dark brown haired Goddess, walking through the snow to beg me to sleep naked! It was a DAMN NICE dream, that's for sure. Thanks for the lollipop!"

"You make me pay for that, by eating a 5 or 6 day old sour-smelling pair of skivvies, in a DEMENTOR-PUKE SAUCE! I'm not saying it wasn't worth it, mind, but JESUS H. CHRIST! And then, _then, _ you sick, twisted trollop, you have me share a WET DREAM about that same Goddess, a beautiful naked Redheaded Goddess, a naked Streaky-brown haired Goddess who smells of Coconut and Orchids, a short, hot, GRAMMATICAL DOMINATRIX; yet _another_ naked goddess with masses, and masses of beautiful hair equipped with _AUTO-MASTURBATION_, who is stroking a fluffy cat of an _unlikely_ color, while it's curled up on her PINK BITS!"

"You make it abundantly clear, that for some indefinable reason that I am _NEVER_ going to get the least bit of _ANY_ of them, perhaps _especially_ the cat of another color. Then you make me pay for that, by having me pack wood for a fucking GOBLIN, and an ALBANIAN SPRINTER! AND NOW you have me all set up, to get a sub-rosa HUMMER, FROM A GOD-DAMNED DEMENTOR!"

"Can't you horny fan-bitches get yourselves off without _SLASHING_ every-single-character in these books, that has a penis?! Do you know what you need; DO you? Well I'll tell you, I'll tell you what you bloody need! You need to find yourself a bloke with a Johnson as big as a draft horse's; that's either drunk enough, or blind enough, to stand you up against a wall and give you a _DAMNED-GOOD-RODGERING! _THAT' S what the hell you need you SICK, PERVETED, _TWAT!"_

Pip sat down, panting like a steam engine. Bruce was back up in his chair, staring in awe at Pip. No, he wasn't getting horny again, but Dementors really respect a first-class ass-ripping when they see one. And this one was special.

It seemed that Pip had has his say.

He hadn't.

"AND ANOTHER THING!", he cried out, as he leapt back to his feet. "What the hell is up with this PIPPI, FUCKING, _LONGSTOCKING_ business, eh?! Would you _PLEASE_ tell me just what-in-the-_FUCK_, is up with that?"

There was a nervous chittering sound from Hermes's cage. "OH YEAH! A MONKEY? What the hell is the monkey all about? Is that some sort of inside-joke amongst you and your FRUSTRATED, SEXUALLY-AMBIVALENT GIRLFRIENDS? And speaking of that, why is it that I find myself all of the sudden a BI-CURIOUS LESBIAN TRAPPED IN THE BODY OF A MAN WITH A COCK THE SIZE OF A _VIENNA SAUSAGE?" _ Pip was rolling now.

"THE NEXT THING I KNOW, YOU"LL BE SLASHING HERMES THERE, _WITH THE FUCKING MONKEY!" _ Pip pointed to the cage.

The tiny monkey was trembling with cold and fear, huddled as close to the great raptor as Mr. Nilsson dared go. Hermes turned his great golden eyes on the little creature that he had been sizing up as a snack. Something in the pleading gaze of those tiny, dark eyes touched Hermes. Hermes spread one of his great wings, and swept Mr. Nilsson against his side. Gradually, the little monkey stopped shaking. He burrowed into the warm, soft feathers, and clutched them with his tiny monkey hands.

Hermes shifted his wing a bit, and Mr. Nilsson gazed up into the huge golden eyes with a look of gratitude and trust.

Hermes' heart melted. "Hoo," said Hermes softly.

"You,' whispered Mr. Nilsson, 'only you…."

Mr. Nilsson ran his clever monkey hand over the broad, strong breast of the owl. He traced the powerful flight muscles, his small hand softly pressing into the downy under feathers, lower, slid the hand.

"HHooooo, ohhh Hooo…." moaned Hermes.

At last, Mr. Nilsson's clever little monkey fingers gently parted the softest feathers of them all. Hermes eyes fluttered, and his head turned half-way round. Then the little monkey fingers slid deftly into the tight, hot-"

"CUT THAT SHIT OUT! Merlin's BALLS! What in HELL kind of _RAT-SCREW SHIT _ IS GOING ON BETWEEN YOUR EARS!? Now go somewhere and have a good WANK, and leave me the FUCK ALONE for a while, would you?" Pippi collapsed back into his seat.

Hermes looked pretty disappointed. The monkey just jerked off. Hey, it's a monkey. They jerk off. A lot.

Clap, came the sound, Clap, Clap, CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP! "WELL DONE, PIP, OLD SON! WELL DONE INDEED! Bruce was on his feet clapping and cheering wildly, acknowledging a stellar performance.

There was unbelievably foul vituperation, in Pippi Longstocking.

"Call me Tomorrow," said Tomorrow Weasley Longstocking.

"No offence meant by the God-damned Dementor business, Bruce old son. But I'd just about had it at that point."

"None taken. That used to be the best thing about being a Dementor, nobody ever slashed _us_. But now; now the rules have _changed." _

"Help yourself to a Toad-poison, Bruce my boy. Tomorrow, is another motherfucking day."

He reached for the bottle.


	6. Chapter 6

Author: Lash_Larue

Title: The Nightmare Continues

Pairing:You all know who's coming

Rating:Usual, nobody should look at this stuff.

Summary: Another brick on the pile

Warnings:erm...little cussing...some violence...buggery...interspecies incest...someold, sameold

Word Count: 1850

Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling, some do, one belongs to the creators of South Park, the others just don't belong at all.

Percy 6 – The Nightmare Continues

Percy Weasley woke up.

Of course by now we all know that this really took a set of big brass ones to even contemplate, let alone do.

It was in that false-dawn period when the mind just takes a peep, so as to avoid a crushing shock.

"No puke,' thought Percy, 'def-i-nate-ly no puke." He realized to his surprise, that he was actually lying in a bed with reasonably clean sheets. He did detect the trace of a scent that hinted of recent carnal activity, and there was a warm arm draped across his chest.

He realized that he felt quite content, and happy, even…_satisfied_. He reached up to touch the hand that was so gently holding him. It was very warm. It was also quite thin, and slimy as a motherfucker. He heard a rasping breath by his ear.

"Just-fuck-me…", said Percy Weasley.

"_You know I can't refuse you darling,"_ cooed Bruce the Dementor.

Percy felt a long, warm, wetfinger probe gently but firmly into his bunghole. _"It's not so bad,"_ thought Percy, as his eyes rolled back into his head. _"At least the finger is skinny, and it's slimy as a motherfucker."_ Bruce cooed in his ear, and sucked softly on his neck. Percy sighed deeply, wondering how he had gotten into this position. He couldn't move, because Bruce was strong as a bastard, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to anyway.

He tried to call up the images of the goddesses, so he wouldn't feel quite so strange about the situation. The verrah dark-haired Goddess, naked in the melting snow with the carton of chicken red curry. The tall, red-haired Goddess, the streaky-brown haired goddess, her hair swinging two inches above her waist, who seemed to have very pointed canines, and smelled of coconuts and orchids. The short Grammatical Dominatrix, who was beta'ing a fanfic, and drinking heavily. The Goddess with masses and masses of hair, with auto-masturbation and the cat of an unlikely color on her lap. They were all very beautiful, and Percy smiled at the thought of them, and he began to relax and enjoy the ride.

"_No, that's just not fucking going to work,"_ said Percy to himself. _"There is simply no way in the world to get 'round the fact that I am lying in bed being cornholed by a Dementor's finger. No fucking way in the world."_

There was brutal honesty, in Percy Weasley.

He felt a little _wriggle_, right behind his navel.

_"Oh, just- fuck-me,"_ he sighed again.

"Harder?" asked Bruce.

"Well, I suppose love, after all, is love…" said Percy Descartes-Weasley. Percy raised his hand skyward, the palm open, as if to…flip the bird, to the sick bitch doing this to him.

"Up against the wall, twat," he said softly. "There's a Big Johnson with your name on it, right around the corner, I hope." He drifted into sleep.

Scalded Bastard, the House-elf, took his courage in both hands and knocked on the door before him. He waited. He heard a heavy tread approach from within the house. The door opened.

"What the fuck are you?" said Chef.

"I'm your son, daddy,' replied Scalded Bastard, 'and you're my father."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," said Chef.

"Fraid not, actually. It's been a while, but do you remember an encounter with a small sort of woman with large eyes and ears, when you were on a tour of London?"

Chef's eyes assumed a dreamy look. "Oh yeah,' he said softly, 'one hell of a spinner…."

"Spect so," said Bastard.

"Well come on in and let's us shoot the breeze." Chef moved aside, and then guided Bastard into his den. The walls had many gold records on them, and there were great hangers filled with gold chains. A coat tree held an assortment of dashikis.

"Now then, say, - what do I call you anyway?" asked Isaac.

"Bastard will do, dad, just bastard."

"Where'd you get those blisters, you little bastard?" queried Chef.

"Long story, doesn't matter anyway."

"_Right on…_ So I remember the spinner okay, and you do look like her. But if you'll pardon me sayin' so, you don't look too black to me. More sort of shiny silver-like."

"Long story, doesn't matter anyway."

" _I can dig it…_ Look, if there's one thing I know, it's how to spot a Chef bastard. You know what I mean?"

Bastard nodded slowly, he reached down and pulled off his loincloth. A soft, but heavy object hit the floor with a thud.

Chef's teeth showed in a broad grin. "_That's my boy all right. That's my boy._" Tears glistened in his eyes as he stepped forward to embrace his newly discovered son.

"JESUS FUCKIN'CHRIST, DAD! YOU'VE TROD ON MY BLOODY PECKER!" screeched Bastard.

"Sorry son, want Daddy to kiss it and make it better?"

There is absolutely nothing like a family reunion….

"Ohhhhhhhhhh," moaned Bastard.

"_Who's your daddy,"_ crooned Chef, "_who's your daddy, you little bastard?"_

Percy Weasley woke up.

His ass hurt some, but all things considered he had had worse mornings "_At least I'm not alone anymore_," he thought. He looked fondly at the sleeping Bruce.

He appeared to experience a sort of … dawning….

"You did it, you actually did it, you disgusting, twisted, evil, perverse, harlot," said Percy.

"_Fuck with me again, Percy, and it will get worse…."_

Percy blew chunks all over Bruce.

After the odd couple cleaned up the puke, (Bruce puked too, he was quite close to Percy, and felt his pain.) Bruce got to the original point of his visit.

"As I was saying before I got distracted by your soft, round arse, the Guild has filed suit against Umbridge. Stupid bitch sent us up against a scalded bastard house-elf Patronus. And that, old son, is just not on." Percy's eyes widened in astonishment.

"Do you mean to tell me, that the great cow forgot about Guild contract, section "C", paragraph three –hundred-twenty-seven, sub-paragraph 14, line 8,?"

"She did indeed, Pip, she did indeed," said Bruce in unholy glee. "But since your Patronus fragged all my lads, it's just my word against hers, and no-one will believe a Dementor," he added sadly, his hood drooped.

Percy put his hand on Bruce's arm-

"Please,' said Percy through clenched teeth, 'I am asking you, as nicely as I know how. Would you please cease these irrelevant side plots, so we can put me out of this Hell?"

"_In the words of a six-foot, red-haired, Dominatrix, NO! But I'll cut you a bit of slack, because I'm a little worn with this shit too."_

"So what we need Pip, is for you to come and testify as to what happened here. With your help, we can put the bitch away in Azkaban for a _very_ long time," Bruce grinned. He did, really, but Dementors mouths being what they are, it was hard to tell. Percy however was very familiar with Bruce's – sorry, it's a habit now.

"When is the trial then?" asked Percy.

"Tomorrow, first thing," answered Bruce.

"Shit," said Percy. First thing tomorrow he was supposed to have a garden hose shoved into his stomach to remove that _wriggling_ little piece of Umb-. Percy fought it down. But the desire to put his tormentor away was too strong. "I'm in!"

"Thanks Pip," replied Bruce.

"Call me a cab."

"All right, you're a cab."

"You're Goddam right I am,' said Cab, 'you're Goddam right."

Bruce and Cab left the house, and headed to the doctor's office. (I know, they wouldn't be open on a Sunday. But I'm not going back to rewrite the thing)

They were having a fairly pleasant stroll; the day was nice, and there were not many people about to see Cab talking to someone or something that just wasn't there. Suddenly, from out of an alley, sprang a pale and terrifying apparition.

"What the hell is that?" gasped Bruce. Cab knew damn well what it was, and he trembled in fear. The white-faced creature began making strange motions with its hands, and strange expressions with its face. An icy trickle of fear caused Cab's testicles to take a Chevy to the levy, and Mr. Winky fled, riding a horse with no name, and sat on the Dock of the Bay.

"_A mime!"_ said Cab in terror.

The mime began to seem as if he was locked in an invisible box. He dragged the box by an invisible rope, closer, closer, and Cab and Bruce clung together in fear. "_Doom,_" whispered Cab. "That fucking mime is going to kill us with this silly shit, and there's nothing we can do about it…."

At least they were together.

The strains of some really funky-ass music filled the air.

Suddenly, something burning white, and… really quite small, actually, with splashes of gold, red, black, and green flashed by. It smashed into the mime, making a sound like a large melon tossed off a tall building, or a lap dancer on a really good night, and shattered it into – one big, fucking mess, really. Chunks of mime were all over the street, the buildings, nearby trees, and of course Cab and Bruce.

"Bastard!" exclaimed Cab. "You always show up when I need you."

"Me and you is tight, Cab, my main man," said Bastard as he pimp-walked back to Cab's side. He was wearing many gold chains, a Mercedes-Benz hood ornament, and a multi-colored Dashiki.

"Told you," said Bruce to Cab.

"I see you found your dad," said Cab, really pleased for the Elf.

Bastard grinned a little lop-sided sort of House-elf grin. "Freakin'-Chef," said Bastard, "can you believe that shit?"

"Of course, but how did you convince him that you were his son?"

There was the sound of something soft and heavy hitting the sidewalk with a thud.

"Yes, that would do it, I suppose," said Cab, nodding.

There was a sucking sound, and Bruce advanced slowly on the Elf, unable to take his eyes away from the staggering dong lying on the street before him. Face it, Bruce was a cock-hound.

"Back off, suckuh,' snarled Bastard, 'once you've been blown by Chef, you never look back."

"So he's an affectionate parent then," commented Cab.

"Quite solicitous indeed," said Bastard.

"And he acknowledged you properly?"

"Gave me his name, even."

"So that would make you?"

"Scalded Black Moses Bastard, the Homeboy Chef-elf."

"We can dig it," chorused Bruce and Cab.

"Want me to cap this arsehole before I leave, Cab?" queried Scalded Black Moses Bastard the Homeboy Chef-elf. Bruce trembled in fear, but he watched as the elf rolled his schlong up and tucked it away.

"No, that won't be necessary; Bruce here and I are on the same side now."

"Figured," Bastard said. "Peace-out, you nancies." He raised his fist in the air, and the funky music rang out as he popped out of sight.

"Nice threads," said Cab.

"To bad about this bloke though, innit?" commented Bruce waving his hand to indicate the entire area.

"Why is that, exactly, then?"

"Well,' said Bruce, 'a Mime… is a terrible thing to waste."


	7. Chapter 7

Author: Lash_larue

Title: Percy 7

Pairing: I cannot recall

Rating: Fucked up

Summary: you have got to be kidding me

Warnings:actually sort of mild, for a Percy.

Word Count: 1400 or so

Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling She said she was done with these particular ones. Something about the smell...

Percy 7

I'm not done with him yet…he called me _names…_

Percy Weasley was awake.

He was standing in an area that was covered in a foul-looking paste, which not so long ago had been an even fouler thing.

"Say what you will about Scalded Black Moses Bastard the Homeboy Chef-elf," said Cab, shaking his head, "but you have to admit, the little bastard's got style."

"True,' agreed Bruce, 'and he's hung like a fire-truck."

Bruce really was a cocksmoker.

"Well, I guess we'd better pop home, and wash this mess off," said Cab as he surveyed the carnage on himself.

"I could help you with that," said Bruce coyly, "it would be my pleasure…"

Cab looked up, but he wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

"Well then, let's go," he said to Bruce, and he took off. Cab was as fast as a scalded bastard house-elf.

But he was not as fast as Scalded Black Moses Bastard the Homeboy Chef-elf.

Ever since he had embraced his heritage, Scalded Black Moses Bastard the Homeboy Chef-elf had picked up some speed. Who knew? Just because it's a stereotype doesn't mean it's not true. Look at his…

"Love too," slurped Bruce.

Bruce was a cocksmoker at heart. Really.

Bruce just drifted along in Cab's wake, and before you could say, "Bruce is really a cocksmoker", they were back at the Cauldron.

Cab, being an organized sort, decided to spend a little time cleaning up various items of clothing that were… in need of cleaning. "Shall I just get the mime off of those robes for you, Bruce?" asked Cab politely.

"Thanks, love,' Bruce cooed, and he slipped out of his robes…

_I have no clue what a nekkid Dementor looks like. I already made them skinny, slimy as a motherfucker, warm, and took away their junk. JKR took care of the eyes. So we are left with a skinny, no-eyed, no-junked, slimy motherfucker. David Spade it is…_

"Good Lord, Bruce,' exclaimed Cab, 'you look just like David-fuckin'-Spade."

"That was a touch mean, Cab," said Bruce sadly

"Sorry," apologized Cab, "care for a shower?"

Bruce's non-eyes lit up, and he got a big old non-woody. "Love one," he breathed. Bruce looked up. "Thanks," he mouthed silently.

_You're welcome Bruce. I made you a cocksmoker; it would be cruel not to feed the beast._

In a little while, Cab found that standing under hot water while having bits of mime sucked off of you by something that looked like David Spade wasn't near as bad as you might think. Cab didn't even look up.

"Oh," said Bruce, "there seems to be a bit of mime right there, Cab, love. I'll just get that too then, shall I?"

"Call me, Irresponsible," said Irresponsible Weasley-Bruce. IWB reflected as Bruce sucked lower on his body that if you can't be with the one you love, that you might as well love the one that you were with. That even a bad love, is better than no love. That any kind of love is better than no love at all. And also… "Bruce my lad, I have to admit this, credit where it's due. You damn sure can smoke a wiener."

"Love too," said David Spade's look-alike.

"Though still, all things considered, It certainly does suck a bit to be me. Right, Bruce old man?" philosophized Irresponsible.

"Call me Anytime," purred Anytime.

Irresponsible reflected as the waves of pleasure rolled over him, _"They aren't so bad, Dementors… they're just misunderstood. The aren't sightless, soul-sucking fiends at all – they're sightless cocksmokers whose polarity is reversed. Poor buggers just can't find Mr. Winky."_ Aloud he said, "Except for you, Anytime, dear. You know right where it is all right, you slimy motherfuckin' cocksmoker you. Mmmm, that's the ticket…."

"Sllluuurrrrrrrrpppppppppp," went Anytime.

"Hoooooooo," said Hermes.

"You, only you…" chattered Mr. Nilsson.

"Just how God-damned sick are you, you twisted old cow?" asked everyone.

Pippi Longstocking Irresponsible Bond-Weasley walked into a bar. Hermes flew in with Mr. Nilsson riding on his back, and landed on the bar. Mr. Nilsson never missed a stroke.

_That sick, so far, but I'm working on it._

After donning fresh clothes, Irresponsible sat at the table to figure up his winnings. Irresponsible really did have a good head for figures. Anytime had a good head for … nevermind.

57 x 290

+ 57000

!

Irresponsible was up to his nut-sack in galleons.

"Merlin's Balls!" exclaimed Irresponsible.

"Where?" asked Anytime eagerly. Anytime really was a cocksmoker. RLY.

"I am simply up to my nut-sack in galleons!" exclaimed Irresponsible.

"Love too," slurped Anytime.

Shit, what a fuckin' cocksmoker.

Sometime later….

Anytime and Irresponsible Weasley-Anytime headed back to Dr. Flay's. Mimes fled before them, and there were no further close encounters with the white-faced fiends.

Astonishingly, the office was open on Sunday. There was a red-headed receptionist sitting at the desk. She was wearing a black cashmere sweater that was rather open at the top. The nameplate on the desk said, "Ms. Plenty O'Boobs, Receptive". "How may I help you?" asked Plenty.

Irresponsible had several ideas, but the slimy hand on his throat effectively silenced them. "I wish to see about rescheduling an appointment with Doctor Flay," said Irresponsible formally. Which is of course, the proper way to address a receptionist with a great rack.

"And your name, sir?" breathed Plenty.

Anytime whimpered. Apparently, Bruce went oral-fixated on any obvious cue. And Ms. O'Boobs' boobs were about as obvious as boobs be.

"Call me, Irresponsible," said Irresponsible Weasley-Anytime.

"I don't see you in the book, Mr. Irresponsible," breathed Ms. O'Boobs.

"Right, I think I might have been going under the name of David Copperfield, when I was here last," offered Irrespondavid Cooperweasley-Anytime.

The receptionist had no idea what he meant, but she saw Copperfield down for Monday first thing, and she could read. Barely.

"Sluuuurrrrpppp", went Oral Anytime.

"Yes, Mr. Copperfield, Dr. Flay has you scheduled for an endoscopic procedure at 10 AM Monday," breathed Ms. O'Boobs.

"Yes, I shall have to postpone that, if you please."

"Why?" said Plenty.

"I have to appear in court on a matter of some urgency, have to put this off."

"Oh, and might I enquire as to the nature of the emergency?"

"Of course, but it's really none of your fucking business, and I shan't answer. But feel free to ask, I love the way your tits move when you talk."

"Well, I never!" sputtered Plenty.

"Bet you have,' replied Percy.

"Likely _multiple times_," put in Bruce.

"You do realize that canceling an appointment this late will result in a charge to your account?" ask Boobs O'plenty.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" asked Ircey Weaseblefield.

"We have to charge you for changing the schedule."

"Doesn't matter, I am simply up to my nut-sack in galleons," replied Irperce Fieldsley.

"What the fuck are you talking about,?' asked Ms. O'Boobs

"I'm rich as a bastard," said Mr. Copperwangle.

"Ummmm," purred Ms. O'Boobs, "are you busy tonight?"

"Back off, cunt…" hissed Bruce.

"Who said that?"

"Long story, doesn't matter anyway," said Pippi Coppertop. "When can we reschedule?"

"Ummm," said the receptionist, "when would you like it?"

"Gguuuuhhhhhh," said Anytime and Irresponsible.

"Anytime –"

"Love too," interjected Anytime.

"Except tomorrow, I have to testify in court tomorrow," asserted Percy Weasley. (I was losing track)

"Court…," breathed Plenty, "have you been, _bad?"_

"Not me," said David Weasleycop, "but Dolores Umbridge fucked up and sent Dementors after someone protected by a scalded-bastard house-elf Patronus."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" exclaimed the astonished pair. "Do you mean to tell me, that the great cow forgot about Guild contract, section "C", paragraph three –hundred-twenty-seven, sub-paragraph 14, line 8,?"

"She did indeed, Nip, she did indeed," said Perved Fieldweasle in unholy glee.

"The bitch is toast. And we'll have you down on 10:00 AM Thursday, then, shall we Mr. Golden Nut-sack?" purred Plenty, as she aimed her .45's.

"Guuuuuuuhhhhhhh…," said Anytime and Irresponsible.

"Right then, see you Thursday," said one of them, "by the way, your brights are on, dear."

"Always," breathed the boobs.

Irresponsible and Anytime reluctantly headed home. It had been a trying day.

"Fuck," said Percy, "it's been a trying day."

"Love too," said Bruce the cocksmoker.

"Care to join me in a toad-poison or 12 Bruce old boy?"

"Body-shots?" queried Bruce.

"Is there any other way? Maybe the goddesses will show up."

When Percisponsible Weaslecopper dreamed, he dreamed big.

Dolores Umbridge opened the Owl Post.

"Oh, fuck me!" she squeaked.

Some really funky-ass music filled the air….


	8. Chapter 8

Warnings and stuff - Foul language, perversion in general, it's a Percy thing, so it might squick anybody.

These characters belong to JK Rowling, well, a couple do, anyway. Tinkle and Kinkle appear courtesy of "The Weasley Women", a very delicate pwp 6-way femmeorgy story.

Percy 8 – Is there no end to this madness?

The strains of some really funky-ass music filled the air.

Suddenly, something burning white, and… really quite small, actually, with splashes of gold, red, black, and green flashed into the room.

"You!" shrieked Umbridge. "You're the little bastard that's caused me all this trouble with the Guild!" She waved the summons she had just received.

"Damn straight, bitch," replied Scalded Black Moses Bastard the Homeboy Chef-elf. "But you brought it on yourself, by messin' with my boy Percy, or whoever the hell he is just now. You'll just have to take what's comin' from that, and I hope it's a load and a half after what you put him through, you nasty-ass, toad-looking, 5 sandwich-eating, low-tide smelling, rapist bitch."

"He loved every second of it," insisted Umbridge.

"Oh, please, even you don't b'leve that shit." (In fact she didn't, but she had her pride. God knows why.) "But anyway, Ms. Incredible Skank, I'm here about that little package you left with my boy. I want you to tell me how to get rid of it, and right now," said Bastard menacingly.

"And just how do you propose to extract that information, pee-wee? You know you can't shatter a ministry official, it's in the rules."

Bastard grinned a little crooked house-elf grin. "Nothing in the rules about dick-slapping, though. Ever hear of it?"

"Of course, I have a membership at Wizarddales, but I fail to see how getting slapped with a tiny little house-elf d-"

THUD!

"Last chance, Madame Umbridge, dear…" threatened Bastard.

Dolores licked her wide flabby lips, and tried to think of a comeback. But it was no good. "Guuhhh," she managed to get out.

"Wrong answer," said Bastard… SLAP! Umbridge was knocked out of her chair. She struggled to a sitting position and stared at the elf. SLAP! "Make it easy on yourself, tell me what I want to know, and I'll leave."

Now, I'm sure you have all spotted the flaw in Bastard's plan. If there was anything in the world that would guarantee her not saying a word, it was the thought that if she did, he'd stop. His heart was in the right place, but he had forgotten who he was dealing with.

"You'll have to do better than that, Mr. Bastard De-"

SLAPSLAP!

"Do you expect me to talk?" snapped James Umbridge.

SLAPSLAPSLAP! "Yes, in fact I do," growled Bastard.

Well, it might have gone on indefinitely, but Bastard missed the growing gleam in Dolores' eyes, and he left one out there too long…

"MERLIN'S SCHLONG!" screamed Bastard, as the sharp teeth closed on his johnson.

Umbridge grinned around the mouthful of elf.

Bastard looked up…

"I thought we were mates, but you really are a sick, twisted, pervy bitch, aren't you? Well, have your fun while you can, you harpy, because I promise you, somebody is going to give you the rodgering old Percy promised you. And maybe sooner than you think. We'll see how you like that, you smug, sexually confused pile of whatever the hell you are."

_As if, you little bastard. I've got a mirror, ain't nobody rodgering nothing around here, but thanks for the wishes. And dude, you're a magical creature. You don't like it, pop the fuck out of there. Shit._

Bastard popped out.

Umbridge looked up, clearly disappointed. But she had enough to worry about without pushing things. She re-read the summons and complaint, and plotted her defense.

"Bastard!" exclaimed Irresponsible. "Where's your funky-ass theme music?"

"Fuck me, Perce my man. It just hurts too much for music. I tried, I really did, but the Incredible Cow got me. Look at this shit!"

"GGuuuuuhhhhhhhh…" moaned Anytime.

"Merlin's Schlong!" exclaimed Irresponsible, "What the hell happened to your Willie, Bastard old boy?"

"Bitch bit me, Irresponsible… say, I wonder if I could ask a favor of you and your butt-buddy over there?"

"Of course, I owe you several, name it," replied Irresponsible heartily.

"Well then, for the duration of this, whatever the fuck it is; story, purging, brain-fart, or whatever, may I just call you Bruce and Percy? It's fuckin' hard to keep track, truth to tell. And I'm not at my best just now."

"Of course, glad to help out,' said Percy.

"Drroooooollll," said Bruce. Bruce really was a co….. well, you all know that anyway. But he really was.

"Anyway, I figured to beat the secret to getting shed of your little problem out of the bitch."

"Dick-slap?" queried Percy.

"Right."

"Well," put in Bruce as he wiped his chin, "any normal person that might have worked on. Why do you think Dementors don't have peckers anymore? Great toad bit 'em off."

"All of them?" asked Percy incredulously.

"Well, she got a few good clauses into the guild contract too. A word to the wise, lads, NEVER sign anything that includes the phrase, "until satisfied", trust me."

Bastard and Percy nodded gravely.

"I say, Bastard old top, that does look a bit painful. Shall I just kiss it and make it better then?" asked Bruce hopefully.

Bastard looked up, but he didn't say anything. He looked at Percy.

"Well Bastard, to be fair, old Bruce can damn sure smoke a wiener," admitted Percy.

"Oh what the hell, thanks Bruce, I'd be-"

"SSSSUUUUCCCKKKKKK…."

"..." said Bastard as his eyes rolled back into his head.

"Hooo…" cooed Hermes.

"You, right the fuck NOW…" chattered Mr. Nilsson.

"I am going to get piss drunk," said Percy as he removed his outer clothing, stowed it away carefully, and sat down at the table clad only in his skivvies. "Maybe the Goddesses will show up."

Hand it to him, when he dreamed, he dreamed big.

Percy reached for a bottle… there were two, nearly simultaneous, popping noises. Percy looked towards the source of the sound. There were two female House-elves standing in his room. They were both clad in tiny thigh-high black leather boots, black leather bustiers, and spiked collars and wristbands. One of them carried a whip.

"Well I'll be damned," said Percy, "House-elf quim is slit sideways!"

"Yes," replied one of the Elves, "that is why we is afraid of sliding boards, sir. I is Tinkle, and this is my friend Kinkle. For some reason we were compelled to come here."

"Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo" panted Hermes.

"SLuuurrrrpppppp, aaahhhhhhh" said Bruce.

"You-you-you-youyouyou," chattered Mr. Nilsson.

"YES, YOU FUCKIN' COCKSMOKER!" screamed Bastard.

"What a cute monkey!" exclaimed Kinkle.

"Welcome to MY motherfuckin' world," said Percy bitterly.

Kinkle moved towards the cage, a high, keening sound passing through her lips.

"HOO-hoo-hoo-h—who the hell are yoooooo?" said Hermes.

"I is Kinkle, and Owl-Monkey sex is HOTTTT!"

"You-you-you-youwantjoinin?" panted Mr. Nilsson.

"Where?" moaned Kinkle as she toyed with herself.

For an answer, Mr. Nilsson extended his tail, and made it go all rigid.

Kinkle could take a hint….

"Hoohoohoohoohoo…"

"Youyouyouyouyouyou…."

"FUCK ME, YOU FUCKIN" LITTLE APE!"

"Jesus wept," said Percy, and he turned up the bottle- "swhhiiissshhhhh – CRACK!"

"SHIT!" screamed Percy as he grabbed at the welt on his arm.

"You is not asking permission to drink, boy-toy," growled Tinkle.

Percy looked up.

"Welcome back, bitch," he said.

_Thanks, Perce, it will all be over soon. Don't worry, I owe you…_

"Too bloody right you do. Mistress, may I have a drink?" asked Percy.

"NO!" roared Tinkle as she raised the whip.

_Sweet dreams, Perce…_


	9. Chapter 9

Author: Lash_Larue

Title:Percy 9 "I throw Perce a bone" (heh)

Pairing:Please

Rating:R-NC-17

Summary: Umbridge has her day in court

Warnings:Not too many, pretty mild for a Percy

Word Count: 2153

Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling, some of them, anyway. Some of them belong to Redbeargrl.

Percy 9

"Madame Umbridge, will you come with us, please?" asked the tall wizard in front of her desk. His two colleagues remained silent.

"I am rather busy at the moment," replied Umbridge, "whatever it is will have to wait."

"I'm afraid you're wrong there," he said as he handed her an official-looking document, "we are to take you to a secure detention facility until your trial begins."

"Detention? Me? You can't be serious, I am the Senior Undersecretary!"

"Not anymore, I'm afraid," he demurred, handing her another document, "you have been suspended indefinitely, due to the serious nature of the charges against you."

"Serious? It was only a few Dementors! "

"Well, there is the matter of the forced implantation of an immature bufanidae in Mr. Percy Weasley, as well."

"Forced? Nonsense! He loved every second of it!" protested Dolores, yet again.

There were loud snorts from all three wizards present, and a very tan blonde wizard who had heretofore been silent spoke up.

"Dude; like, I mean, not even!" he said.

Umbridge flushed scarlet, and the other two wizards shuddered. But they fought it down.

"Come with us, now, Madame Umbridge," the first wizard insisted, "don't make this harder than it has to be, please."

Seeing that she had no choice, Umbridge allowed herself to be led from the room. But she was seething.

"_There will be a price paid for this insult,"_ she promised herself.

Percy Weasley woke up. Slowly, and with great trepidation, but he did it.

There was steel, in Percy Weasley.

He felt a little _wriggle_ right behind his navel…

"Oh, just fuck me…" he sighed.

"I is been fucking you all night you stud-muffin you!" said a tiny voice from around his sternum.

He then noticed that Mr. Winky was feeling terribly smug, and that that whole area was pretty darn sticky. Also, there was a small, but emphatically female boob in his hand.

"Well," said Percy, "no puke, a smug wiener, and a small but emphatically female boob in my hand! BEST_DAY_EVER!"

He opened his eyes. There was a female house-elf stuck onto his schlong. His schlong was quite happy. "Well, she's a small thing," Percy said. But she isn't nothing."

"Does Master want Tinkle to fix his breakfast?" asked Tinkle. "Or would he rather I do this?"

"This" turned out to be a simply extraordinary example of the keigle exercise. Percy felt like Mr. Winky was plugged into a milking machine.

"Fuckin' GGUUUUHHHHH!" moaned Percy as his eyes rolled back into his head.

Bruce lifted his head at the sound of Percy's ecstasy; instead of the expected jealous rage, he smiled, and said, "Well, that simplifies things for us, my little Bastard."

"That's Scalded Black Moses Bastard, you cocksmoker," replied Scalded Black Moses Bastard the Homeboy Chef-elf. "And every time you get it wrong, you get one of these…" idickslap!/i

"Ughh! I'm sorry, Melvin."

iDICKSLAP/i

iUmmmm, Peggy Fleming?/i

iDICKSLAPDICKSLAP/i

You do see where that bit is headed don't you? I mean, Bruce is really a… but you all know that by now, if nothing else.

"Hoooo?" purred Hermes.

"Either one of you," answered Kinkle. "Both at once, or one at the time."

"Firsties!" chattered Mr. Nilsson, climbing aboard the Elf-train.

"Bruce old man?" panted Percy.

"MMmmmfffff?" answered Bruce.

"The trial?"

"Bugger," answered Bruce.

"Love to," said Scalded Black Moses Bastard the Homeboy Chef-elf.

"ZOMFG!" screamed Bruce.

"I am afraid that I will have to recuse myself from this case," said Judge Greengoober, "because of my personal history with some of those involved. But I will be glad to sit on the Judicial Panel of Oversight. You might try this judge; they have a very good record."

"Thank you," replied the Minister for Magic, "I'll look into it. You say the name is Julie Strain?"

"That's the one, Judge Julie, from Sex Court."

"Seems appropriate in this ca-" the M.O.M. fought it down, but Judge Hurlspuke T. Greengoober blew chunks all over the courtroom.

"Bring me a Toad-poison!" cried Greengoober.

"Well," said Percy to himself as he scrubbed briskly in the shower, "Tinkle is certainly a step up from a Dementor, even if she isn't quite human. At least she's female, and _enthusiastic_. Still, I would have liked a shot at one of the Goddesses."

_Greedy little bastard, aren't you, Perce? Shall we go back to "Mr. Weasley dear" ?_

Percy turned pale, and he fought it down. "NO, PLEASE! Not that," * _shudder *_, "Tinkle is really a very lovely female, but you know… naked in the slush, verrah dark brown hair… long red hair, _torque wrench_… streaky-brown hair two inches above the waist, maybe even longer by now, coconuts and orchids… leather bustier, whip, _semi-colons_… cat of another color, masses of _auto-masturbating hair_… It's rather difficult not to dream, you see."

_Guhh… point taken Perce. Well, let's move along then, shall we?_

"After this trial shit is over, Bruce, I'll take you to meet my dad," promised Scalded Black Moses Bastard, "you'll like Dad, I'm sure. I sort of take after him, in a manner of speaking…"

Bruce wiped his chin, and allowed his imagination to wander… he wiped his chin some more. What a cocks… all together now.

"Hooowwhheenn?" cooed Hermes.

"Anytime you two likes," said Kinkle as she disengaged from the owl and the monkey. "We has a very special room in the castle that I is thinking you will like."

Mr. Nilsson grinned, and jerked off… monkeys… they do that, a lot.

"Bruce old man, you and Bastard need to clean up, it's time to head to court," said Percy briskly as he laid out his finest robes.

"Right on, Perce," said SBMBtHbC-e, "say man, about me and Bruce-"

"Say no more. It's a match made in heaven, I couldn't be happier for you. Are you going to take him to meet your dad?" asked Percy.

"Yeah, I think dad will take to him," answered Bastard, grinning a little lop-sided house-elf grin. (With a strong funk overtone to it.)

"I expect so," agreed Percy nodding. "Let's get going, I want to see this nightmare finished," urged Percy. He gave a quick glance upward, but said nothing.

"We is leaving now, Master Percy," said Tinkle.

"When will I see you again?" asked Percy.

Swissshhhh – CRACK! "When I decides to, boy-toy. And not before."

"Yes, Mistress," said Percy.

Tinkle was tiny, but Dom to the bone.

The two elves disappeared with a crack. Hermes and Mr. Nilsson were pouring over a map of the south of France. Percy decided not to ask about that.

Percy had just finished dressing when Bruce and Bastard emerged from the bathroom, spotlessly clean, and with their game faces firmly in place. Playtime was over for now, it was on for real. They dressed swiftly, and apparated to the Ministry. Well, Percy apparated, Bruce and Bastard went however they go places. But they all got to the Ministry at the same time, which is all that matters.

"Good to see you again, Mr. Weasley," said the Security Wizard, "all of us in my department are pulling for you. Bitch deserves life for what she did to you, aside from the incredibly stupid blunder of forgetting Guild contract, section "C", paragraph three –hundred-twenty-seven, sub-paragraph 14, line 8."

"Thank you," said Percy, a little surprised and strangely heartened.

The trio proceeded to the main courtroom, where they found a capacity crowd, and had the immense satisfaction of seeing a seething Dolores Umbridge bound in the witness chair by the living chains. They took their seats at the prosecution's table.

"Order in the Court," intoned the Bailiff, a huge troll who spoke very good English. "All rise for her Honor, the Right Hot Judge Julie Strain."

Judge Julie writhed into the courtroom, everyone stood; lots of things rose.

"Sit!" barked Judge Julie. Everyone sat. "I have read the charges against you, Madame Umbridge, how do you plead?"

"Not Guilty!" cried Umbridge indignantly.

"Oh," said the prosecutor, "so you didn't send Dementors against a person protected by a scalded bastard House-elf Patronus, then? I remind you that you are under oath, and that we have in court the scalded bastard House-elf Patronus in question, as well as the sole surviving Dementor, and a witness."

"The nature of Mr. Weasley's Patronus was unknown to me, I believe he concealed it from me, and is bringing the charges because I have declined any further sexual contact with him. I admit that I yielded to his blandishments once. I regret that, but I am, after all, a woman with needs." Dolores ran her hands down her sides and simpered. The assemblage fought it down, but it was close.

"You have got to be fuckin' kidding me," said Judge Julie, "you are telling me that Mr. Weasley voluntarily gave head to you?"

"Precisely, he said it was just like a trip to Honeydukes," insisted Dolores.

*cough_BULLSHIT_cough* came from several quarters.

"Well, ignorance of the Patronus is no excuse, but it might mitigate the sentence. However, the forced implantation of an Umbridge-tad is attempted murder, and likely to BE murder, in time. How do you respond, Mr. Weasley, did you voluntarily have lunch at THAT 'y'?"

Percy stood; he was sweating and trembling, and every time he tried to speak, he had an urge to puke or faint. In the end, all he could manage to do was to point at Umbridge and shake his head vigorously in denial.

"You see, he cannot bring himself to deny his passion for me," purred Dolores triumphantly, "I move that those charges be dismissed for lack of evidence."

Judge Julie considered, Umbridge had a point here, pointing and shaking is not admissible testimony. She was about to rule in Umbridge's favor when Judge Greengoober spoke up.

"I rise to a question of the law, in this case, where the witness is obviously too shaken to speak, it would be well to employ a Pensieve, so that the court might see the actual events from Mr. Weasley's perspective."

"So ordered," said Judge Julie, "as long as the witness agrees."

"Yes, I agree," stammered a white-faced and sweating Percy. The Bailiff wheeled over a large Pensieve, and a Medi-wizard approached Percy. She waved her wand over his head, and muttered several incantations.

"I have located the relevant memory, Your Honor, shall I proceed?"

"Indeed yes, let's get to the bottom of this." Percy shuddered, but he fought it down. The Medi-wizard touched her wand to Percy's temple and withdrew a gleaming silver thread. She deposited it in the Penseive, and the Bailiff wheeled it over in front of the bench. There was much excited muttering in the Courtroom.

Judge Julie banged her gavel. Everyone watched her do that, and when she was done, she rapped the gavel on her desk, and instructed the Medi-wizard to call up the memory.

Percy watched himself knock on the door of Umbridge's office, and then he sat down, closed his eyes tightly, and shoved his fingers into his ears.

Periodically, he could catch a sound, either a gasp from the assemblage or a cry from the memory-Umbridge. The sharp tang of puke reached his nose, and if there was one thing Percy Weasley knew, it was the smell of puke. Against his will, he opened his eyes. He was just in time to see himself fleeing out of the office door.

"GUILTY AS HELL! GUILTY AS A MOTHERFUCKER! TAKE THIS FILTHY PIECE OF DISTENDED RECTUM TO AZKABAN AND FORGET WHERE SHE IS!" screamed Judge Julie. The courtroom rang with "AYE's".

"NOOoooooooo," shrieked Umbridge as she was dragged away. There was so much shouting and wretching going on that no one noticed when the stubby fingers closed on a wand protruding from the pocket of a doubled over wizard.

Bruce and Bastard pounded Percy on the back, while he shook with relief.

"It's over, it's really over," said Percy, unbelieving.

He felt a little _wriggle_ right behind his navel.

"Oh STILL fuck me," said Percy in despair.

"Oh, I will," said Judge Julie into his ear. "And then you can have a trip to someplace a lot better than Honeydukes, sweetie."

Percy felt an unaccustomed bulk swelling in his pants. He looked at Judge Julie; she was rubbing her breasts through her robe, and staring hungrily at his crotch. He looked up…

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," he stated.

_Enjoy, Percy. I figured you deserved to win one for a change. She ain't one of the Goddesses, but she's a step up for sure. And it ain't over yet, Pippi._

Percy didn't miss the "Pippi" reference, but as Judge Julie's fingers tugged him towards her chambers by his quite respectably sized schlong, he simply didn't give the least part of a fuck.


	10. Chapter 10

Author:Lash_Larue

Title: Percy the Last

Pairing: Please...

Rating: pretty darn mild for a Percy

Summary:no

Warnings:Some cussing; dream multiple fellatio; dream sort of odd incest, kinda; Umbridge

Word Count: 3900 near enough...

Disclaimer: Percy and Umbridge belong to JKR, the rest of this assemblage is my fault.

Percy the LAST, thank goodness...

Percy Weasley woke up.

"Oh fuck, I woke up," he said aloud. "Still whatever is, is, and hesitation won't change it!"

There was steel - oh hell, Perce is tough as woodpecker lips. Give the poor schmuck credit.

He drew a cautious breath… "I don't smell puke, that's a good sign. I don't feel any small but unmistakably female boobs. But I have to say that Mr. Winky is feeling right past smug. Touch tender to tell you the truth. Oh dear, judging from past experience, that must mean I got blown by a wood-chipper or something similar." He opened his eyes.

"Hell – oh! Where did that come from?" he said looking beneath the covers. "It's not small at all, and it smells like… _Judge Julie_… guuuhhhhhhh." Written on his stomach was – "I will never forget you, my stallion!" _Julie_. Percy looked at the ceiling, but he didn't say anything. "If it seems too good to be true, it probably is," he mused. He felt a little _wriggle_, right behind his navel. "Your days are numbered, you foul bit of ejaculation! I've got something for you, you… Merlin's' Beard! – (Percy fought it down) I only have 20 minutes to get to the surgeons'!"

Of course, this was really no problem for Percy, because after all; he was as fast as a Scalded Bastard House-Elf. He showered, changed into his best muggle clothes and was out through the front entrance of the Leaky Cauldron before you could say, "Damn, he's as fast as a Scalded Bastard House-Elf!"

"What the 'ell was that then, Tom?" asked the patron.

"Must have been James Longstocking Copperfield Irresponsible Weasley-Bond, I reckon. Nobody else around here can move like that."

" 'Struth; give us another then , Tom, that's the ticket," mumbled the patron blearily.

"Give this a try then, Archie old top," said Tom as he poured a shot of Toad Poison. "If a hard drinker like Mr. Whoever-the-fuck-he-is-right-this-minute likes it, there must be summat to it."

"What precisely do you mean, 'she got away', "said the MOM coldly.

"Well sir, she's escaped, actually. She grabbed a wand in the excitement after the trial, and during her transport to Azkaban she stunned her guards and escaped," explained the shame-faced Auror.

"So that demented Harpy is on the loose, armed with a wand?"

"Yes sir, that is the situation precisely, I couldn't have put it better myself."

"Oh, fuck," sighed the MOM.

"Yes sir. I couldn't have pu-"

"Shut the hell up and find her before she causes trouble with the Muggles, you imbecile! She a loony, and she's desperate, and she has nothing to lose anymore," the MOM said urgently.

"Well, there is still the Umbridge-tad, I reckon. She still has that to lose…" *shudder* replied the Auror.

"Merlin's Be- (that particular epithet had fallen into general disfavor since the trial of Dolores Umbridge), I mean, shit! Find Weasley and protect him, we'll look like utter fools if she gets him again!

"Yes sir, I'll get right on it!"

"Hello, Tom dear…" said Dolores Umbridge. She was a right mess, her hair had come loose from its accustomed bun, her robes were torn and soiled, and her face was filthy. There was the glint of madness in her eyes as they restlessly looked about for stray flies.

"Is that you then, Madame Umbridge?" inquired Tom nervously. The trial and escape had not been broadcast, but her appearance was enough to unsettle anyone.

"Yes, of course Tom. Please excuse my dishevelment, but the Ministry is urgently seeking Mr. Percy Weasley. We have learned that there is a serious peril to his health," she said through her pointed teeth. A fly wandered by, and Umbridge snapped it up. Tom affected not to notice, but he did feel a little queasy. "Would you have any idea of his whereabouts?"

"Sorry, but no, Madame Umbridge; he left out of here a while ago as fast as a Scalded Bastard House-Elf, he did." Umbridge went deathly pale.

"NEVER, say that in front of me, Tom, dear," hissed Umbridge, "or I shall transplant your nut-sack to your nose, do you hear me?" Tom went deathly pale.

"Of course, Madame Umbridge, of course," Tom said fervently.

"Well, I don't rightly know where 'e was 'eaded," said Archie, "but that there little white card fell out of 'is pocket." He pointed to a white object on the floor. Umbridge swooped on it and picked it up.

"Dr. Flay… _SURGEON!_," she exclaimed, "Little Dolores! Hang on Little Dolores, dear, Mummy's coming!" She waddled out of the Cauldron as fast as her stumpy little legs could go, which was moving backwards next to Percy.

"Merlin's Balls!" breathed Tom, shaking, "let's have another then, shall we Archie? That great ugly toad has chilled my marrow!"

"Well, _hello_, Mr Copperfield Golden-nut-sack," breathed Plenty O'Boobs. "How nice to see you again." She leaned forwards, and Percy was in immediate danger of falling into an intoxicating valley…

"Yes, quite," said Percy formally, which is of course the proper way to converse with a magnificent rack. "Is Dr. Flay ready for me then?"

"I know _I'm_ ready for you, Mr. Goldencrotch," purred Plenty, as one hand trailed over a breast and disappeared beneath her desk.

"…" said Percy.

"Mr. Copperfield sir, right on time!" cried Dr Flay heartily, as he emerged from the surgery.

"Fuck," breathed Percy.

"Oh, yes," purred Plenty, "like you've never dreamed of."

Percy doubted that, he really did. Percy had dreamed a LOT about fucking. But he wasn't about to pass up a chance like th- "You're teasing me, aren't you, you foul, perverted, confused bitch?" said Percy to the air.

_Wait and see. But if I were you, I'd go easy on the name-calling, Pippi._

Percy shuddered, and he fought it down. "Right then, Doctor Flay, lets get this over with, shall we? Might I see you after this inconvenient problem has been taken care of, Ms. O'Boobs?" said Percy hopefully.

Ms. O'Boobs opened a couple of buttons, "Oh, yes, Mr. Goldenrod, you can see as much of me as you like…"

"…" said Percy again, and he looked up. But he kept quiet.

"Right then, Mr. Copperfield, just step this way, sir. We'll have you sorted out in a jiffy."

In that he was mistaken, but in all fairness, he could not know that yet.

"Now then sir, just lie on your side, and I'll give you something to help you relax."

"How can I relax with a garden hose being shoved down my throat? Are implying that I am a cocksmoker?" said Percy briskly.

"Certainly not, sir! I just mean that I will give you an injection of a drug that will make you sleepy and relaxed, that's all."

Percy wasn't exactly sure what he meant, but he did not want to appear ignorant, so… "Of course, please excuse my little joke, Dr. Flay, carry on then!" Dr. Flay approached with a hypodermic, and Percy desperately wanted to ask him what the hell was going on, but he was too embarrassed. To his credit, he scarcely flinched when Dr. Flay inserted the needle in his vein, and then…

"Shit!" exclaimed Percy, "what the fuck is going on here?"

"Oh, that's just the valium, sir, it's to help you relax. Do you feel a little sleepy, then?"

Percy wasn't sure how he felt, but it wasn't sleepy… his mind wandered back to Judge Julie, and inserted Ms. O'Boobs and the Goddesses. Hand it to him, when a drugged out Percy Weasley dreamed, he just didn't fuck around. "Sleepy? Well no, I have to admit that I am rather wide-awake just now."

"I see, well let's give it a minute or two to take effect."

Percy thought it had taken effect already, and he was having a very interesting vision of the Goddesses, Judge Julie, and Ms. O'Boobs sort of interwoven. He was trying to decide how best to insert himself into the tapestry, but try as he might, he couldn't. It was simply too far outside his realm of experience, but he was enjoying working on the problem.

"Any change, Mr. Copperfield? Feeling sleepy yet?" asked Dr. Flay.

"Wha- uh, no, sorry, wide-awake here!" said Percy briskly.

"Well we'll just give you a little more then; you want to be nice and relaxed for the procedure." Dr. Flay gave him another knock of valium. A pretty big one, in fact. He was on a schedule, after all. "How's that then…"

"No, still not slee- " Percy stopped in mid-sentence, and was out cold with a smile on his face.

"Right then, Nurse Cratchett, let's get him in position and get that thing out of him!"

Dr. Flay inserted the tube into Percy's mouth, down his throat, and into his stomach. The image on the screen was quite clear, and after a moment…. "There's the little bugger! Good job we didn't wait longer, it's growing like a weed. I'll just grab the little … bless me! It dodged away, well, we'll see about that, then." And he did see about it, and the Umbridge-tad proved to be as elusive as an honest politician. Percy stirred on the table.

"Damn! We can't have him waking now, Nurse Cratchett, get the nitrous oxide, if you please." They fitted the mask to Percy, and he returned to the land of dreams.

Said dream had unfortunately taken a turn for the worse, since the introduction of the endoscope. He was still watching the Goddesses, and they were still having fun, but now Scalded Black Moses Bastard the Homeboy Chef-elf was standing in front of him, with that terrifying member fed down his throat. Sad to say, it was not the worst dream he had had of late, either. "Well," said the dream Percy to himself, "it's a huge thing, but at least I'm not gagging on it."

There was steel, and a huge dream house-elf dong, in Percy Weasley.

"Dammit!" cried Dr. Flay. "I can't catch the little bugger; it's like it knows what's up. I can't keep thrashing around in this poor man's insides like this. I'm afraid I'll have to stop and schedule conventional surgery after all."

A lot of funky-ass music filled the air, and something… yeah, it's him.

"What it is, sawbones?" said Scalded Black Moses Bastard.

"I beg your pardon, and what the hell are you?" asked Dr. Flay, a bit nonplussed.

"Run it down for me, and I'm Scalded Black Moses Bastard the Homeboy Chef-elf, and I am Percy's Patronus."

"Right," said Dr Flay, "what the fuck did you just say?"

"Long story, doesn't matter anyway. Now, have you got that damn Tad out of him yet?" asked Bastard, trying not to be cool. It hurt him, but he really was a good Patronus.

"Alas no, it keeps eluding me. It's worse than trying to tempt a trout with the wrong bait."

A light went on over Bastard's head, and his eyes shone.

"Fuck me!" exclaimed Nurse Cratchett. "A light just came on over that little Home-boys head!"

"Later sweetbritches," replied Bastard, "lets just take care of my main man here first. Here's the plan, man. I'll use something to get the damn things' attention, and you grab its ass and haul it out. Can you dig it?"

"I think so, but what do you plan to use to - "

"THUD"

"Oh, PLEASE fuck me!" cried Nurse Cratchett.

"Is your father, by any chance, Chef?" asked Dr. Flay.

"Damn straight," said Bastard proudly.

"Thought so. He came in to the emergency room with a tiny female stuck on his schlong once. Had the devil of a time getting her loose. They both seemed to enjoy it though," explained Dr. Flay.

Bastards' eyes misted over at the beauty of his creation, but he WAS a good Patronus, so he stuck to business.

"Well, Doc, I'll shove this down there, and if that thing is anything like it's 'mother', it will try to bite it. I'd appreciate it if you'd catch it first. I just recovered from a bad bite and I wouldn't want it to happen again."

"No, we wouldn't want that," agreed Nurse Cratchett, "we wouldn't want that at all!" She fixed Dr. Flay with a look that communicated to him that he had better damn sure not let anything happen to the bait. Dr. Flay felt his own nightcrawler retreat. Nurse Cratchett was one scary bitch when she was horny.

"I'm not sure there is room for that, er, bait, in his throat," said Dr. Flay hesitantly.

"Don't you worry about that, I've had plenty of experience getting this thing into tight places."

Nurse Cratchett whimpered a bit.

"Right then, whenever you're ready. I'll try and grab it as soon as you have its attention." Dr. Flay located the Umbridge-tad on the monitor, but made no move towards it.

Bastard fed his crank down alongside the endoscope, Percy made some sort of sound, but he was still out cold, so no one paid any attention to him.

In his dream, Percy's eyes widened as Chef approached with his schlong in his hands. "Surely not," he thought, "that's carrying the father-son thing entirely too far. Besides, I could never get that thin- ummphh!" Percy knew a sense of wonder that he could indeed get that thing down too. "I suppose I have been around Bruce too much. The cocksmoking must have rubbed off on me. Ah, well, the student has surpassed the master! At least I'm a champion at it!"

By now, Percy knew to take the triumphs that life offered, rather than the ones he might have preferred. And besides, it was just a dream. Mostly.

"It sees it!" cried Dr. Flay excitedly. "Move it around a little, see if it will go for it." Bastard obligingly moved his schlong about.

"_Ohhh, fucckkkkkk mmeeeeeee…_" moaned Nurse Cratchett. Bastard winked at her.

On the screen, the tad was obviously staring at Bastard; its mouth came open, revealing some rather terrifying teeth. Nurse Cratchett looked at the teeth with concern. The tad could be seen to tense up, and quiver a little…a few things happened at once….

"NO!" screamed Nurse Cratchett, and she grabbed up Bastard and ran, pulling his dong along behind them.

The tad lunged for Bastard and missed, crashing into the wall of Percy's stomach.

"Gotcha!" yelled Dr. Flay in triumph, as he smoothly slid the instrument from Percy's throat.

"See you later, boys," said the dreaming Percy, as Bastard and his Dad walked away hand in hand.

The tad was struggling, but the instrument held it firmly, Dr. Flay retrieved a large beaker with a close-fitting top, put some water in it, dropped the tad in it, and swiftly placed the lid on it. The tad grinned evilly at him, and he secured the top with surgical tape. Percy stirred.

"Did you get it?" he croaked. "Merlin's Balls, my throat hurts."

"Indeed we did, sir!" said Dr. Flay proudly. "Mind you it was a tussle, and if Chef's bastard son hadn't showed up, we would have been beaten. You won't believe what he did! He-" Percy held up his hand for silence.

"I'd believe it," he croaked, "I'd just rather not hear about it. Have you disposed of that foul creature?"

"Well, no sir, you see it's your property. And I've got it safe in this container, plucky little thing, might make a good pet."

Percy fought it down. And he looked over at the tad… it wasn't nearly as repellent as its source, he thought. _"I suppose I can't blame the thing, it's as much a victim as I am, really."_ The tad swam to the side of the container, and looked at Percy with its little tad-eyes. _"I believe it knows me,"_ thought Percy in surprise. "Well, I thank you Dr. Flay, will it be all right if I just rest up for a bit before I leave? I'm a bit fagged out, truth to tell."

"Certainly sir, take all the time you like, I'll have Ms. O'Boobs fetch you some tea with honey; that should soothe your throat some." Percy nodded his thanks, and resumed his perusal of the tad.

"_I actually feel kind of sorry for it, now,"_ he thought, _"after all, as far as it's concerned, I'm its mother…"_ Percy felt an overpowering urge sweep over him. He slowly removed the tape….

"Here's your tea and honey, Mr. Copperwangle," breathed Ms. O'Boobs, "I'll just set it by this empty beaker then, shall I?"

"That would be delightful," said Percy, a strange sort of smile on his lips.

"Will I be seeing you again then, Mr. Coppermine?" asked Plenty hopefully.

"The name is Weasley, Percy Weasley," said James Bond-Weasley, and he crushed Ms. O'Boobs to his chest and gave her a most thorough kiss. Ms. O'Boobs' knees buckled, but Percy held her upright until she recovered. "And you can bet you'll be seeing a LOT more of me, Ducky."

_Getting ahead of yourself, Perce?_

"Oh, fuck me," thought Percy.

_Maybe, we'll talk later. Go home, Percy._

"I'll be in touch, sweet thing. I have a few things to clear up first," said Percy to Plenty. He drained the tea, and left the still quivering receptionist standing in the surgery as he left the office. He paused to scrape his shoe on the step, and headed off to home just as Dolores Umbridge waddled around the corner. Of course, since he was as fast as…. yeah, yeah, I know. Anyway, she didn't see him.

She read the numbers on the houses, and turned to go up the steps at Dr. Flays'. She was one hell of a mess by this time, filthy, covered in sweat, her hair straggling wildly around; fly parts all over her face. Even for her, she was repellant. She placed her foot on the first step, and just happened to look down….

"NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" she screamed, and fell to her knees.

Dr. Flay heard the scream, and opened his door. He stepped onto the porch for a moment, and then retreated inside quickly, slamming and locking the door. Nurse Cratchett had disappeared with Bastard, and Ms. O'Boobs was still recovering from the Weasley-Bond kiss, so Dr. Flay grabbed the phone himself, and dialed…

"This is Dr. Flay, and I have an emergency. Send the police, and an ambulance with a team from the psych ward round to my office at once. The ugliest, vaguely female, possibly human, creature I have ever seen is wailing on my steps as we speak. She is obviously destitute, and is as mad as a hatter. She seems to have hawked up an enormous loogey on my steps, and is carrying on over it like it was her mother or something. No, I'm not kidding, and please make it quick."

They made it quick. And in the scuffle no one noticed the wand get kicked into the storm drain. There was a struggle, but the team had handled violent lunatics before, and in good time, and without injury, they had her secured and sedated. "Poor old thing," said one attendant sympathetically, "likely all alone in the world. Just cracked up, I reckon."

"Right sad," agreed the other, "still, she'll be safe now, I reckon. But she's a lifer if ever I saw one."

"True that," agreed the first, "true that. No ID on her, likely we'll never know who she used to be. From the state of her I don't expect anyone will be looking for her."

The Auror overhead all of this, and returned to the Ministry to report his failure to locate Madame Umbridge.

"Well, what now?" said Percy to the ceiling. He was seated at his table, braced for the worst, though the memory of Judge Julie and Ms. O'Boobs was still clear in his mind. Mercifully, many of the other events of the past several days were fading into a dreamlike state.

_Well, that's sort of up to you, Perce. You've been a brick throughout all this, and I'm minded to let you choose your future._

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," said Percy baldly.

_Not at all. Now lets review your current situation, shall we?_

Percy shuddered, and he fought it down, but he nodded assent.

_First, your little problem has been solved._

Percy smiled at the memory of 'solving' that little problem. There was stout shoe leather, on Percy Weasley.

_Next, you're filthy rich. I took the liberty of investing some of your winnings for you. Trust me, you're set. Look…_ An account book appeared on the table. Percy picked it up and examined it; he really did have a good head for figures.

"FUCK ME!" exclaimed Percy, as the reality sank in.

_If you want to, sure._

"…" said Percy. "Do you mean to say, that you are offering me the opportunity to do to you in actuality what you have been doing to me metaphorically these last ten or so episodes?"

_Yes._

"What do you look like?"

_Uh-uh, Percy. You take your chances or you don't. No previews, no refunds._

"I see… what are my other choices, then?"

_Well, you can have things as they are… or I can arrange for you to meet one of the Goddesses._

"I get to shag a Goddess?" he asked in wonder.

_That's not my call. That would be between you and them. But the grammatical Dom is right out. She's taken, and she's devoted. Frankly, I'd have to make a few "changes" for you to have much of a chance with most of the others, and really, they are pretty much taken too._

"So in essence I can have a go at you for sure, a gender reassignment and a long shot at a Goddess, or leave things as they are and meet Ms. O'Boobs for dinner with this monstrous bank account for bait?"

_That's pretty much it, yes. _

Percy thought about it, the idea of giving his tormentor a damn good rodgering was very appealing, but there was a tiny worm of doubt in his mind…

"I say, if I choose to leave things as they are, are you going to give me some sort of 'parting shot', or are you really going to call it quits with me, and leave me with this very respectable johnson and all of these galleons?"

_No parting shot, as for the calling it quits… I damn sure hope to. But I seem to be rather eccentric, so I can't promise._

"The old "Pen of Damocles", eh?" queried Percy.

'_Fraid so, but I really hope I can put you behind me, so to speak._

Altogether, he had to admit that his position was improved. So he'd had a rough time. He had discovered that he was as fast as a Scalded Bastard House Elf, was rich as hell, and he had a date with a beautiful and apparently VERY willing woman. Or he could take a chance at getting a little back on the sick, twisted, confused, perverted twat that put him through all this….

The end, I devoutly hope.


End file.
